Beguiling A Beast
by Kurojistou
Summary: Reclusive Sir Severus Snape has hidden in his castle ever since returning from the colonies, scarred inside and out. Then a mysterious beauty arrives at his door. Past mistakes have taken Hermione Granger from a lifetime of luxury to a job as a housekeeper in a crumbling Scottish castle. Determined to start a new life, she won't let dust - or a beast of a man - scare her away. AU
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello! It's been a long while since I've updated/written anything, but I've been on fanfiction. Mostly lurking around like a creep, becoming enthralled in the soft, yet hard world of Pottermore. How strange of me to become enraptured in a world where, in my youth, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with it all. Strange where life leads us huh? Anyways, this is my first Pottermore fic so please, violently express your innermost thoughts. Lest I use legilimens on you all _

_*wink*_

_I've barley included magic here, just enough to know that it's present and used. Mainly due to my limited knowledge. _

**SUMMARY:**

**Reclusive Sir Severus Snape has hidden in his castle ever since returning from the colonies, scarred inside and out. Then a mysterious beauty arrives at his door. Past mistakes have taken Hermione Granger from a lifetime of luxury to a job as a housekeeper in a crumbling Scottish castle. Determined to start a new life, she won't let dust - or a beast of a man - scare her away. Passions Severus kept suppressed for years begin to awaken.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

**SCOTLAND**

**JULY 1765**

It was as the carriage bumped around a bend and the decrepit castle loomed into view in the dusk that

Hermione Potter finally—and rather belatedly—realized that the whole trip may've been a horrible

mistake.

"Is that it?" Hugo, her five-year-old son, was kneeling on the musty carriage seat cushions and

peering out the window. "I thought it was 'sposed to be a castle."

"'Tis a castle, silly," his nine-year-old sister, Scorpius, replied. "Can't you see the tower?"

"Just 'cause it has a tower don't mean it's a castle," Hugo objected, frowning at the suspect

castle. "There's no moat. If it is a castle, it's not a proper one."

"Children," Hermione said rather too sharply, but then they had been in one cramped carriage after

another for the better part of a fortnight. "Please don't bicker."

Naturally, her offspring feigned deafness.

"It's green." Hugo had pressed his nose to the small window, clouding the glass with his breath.

He turned and frowned at his sister. "D'you think a proper castle ought to be green?"

Hermione stifled a sigh and massaged her right temple. She'd felt a headache lurking there for the last

several miles, and she knew it was about to pounce just as she needed all her wits about her. She

hadn't really thought this scheme through. But, then, she never did think things through as she ought to,

did she? Impulsiveness—hastily acted on and more leisurely regretted—was the hallmark of her life.

It was why, at the age of one and thirty, she found herself traveling through a foreign land about to

throw herself and her children at the mercy of a stranger.

What a _fool _she was!

A fool who had better get her story straight, for the carriage was already stopping before the

imposing wood doors. "Children!" she hissed.

Both little faces snapped around at her tone. Hugo's brown eyes were wide while Scorpius's

expression was pinched. Her daughter noticed far too much for a little girl; she was too

sensitive to the atmosphere adults created.

Hermione took a breath and made herself smile. "This will be an adventure, my little loves, but you must

remember what I've told you." She looked at Hugo. "What are we to be called?"

"Granger," Hugo replied promptly. "But I'm still Hugo and Scorpius's still Scorpius."

"Yes, darling."

That had been decided on the trip north from London when it became painfully obvious that Hugo

would have difficulties not calling his sister by her real name. Hermione sighed. She'd just have to hope

that the children's names were ordinary enough not to give them away.

"We've lived in London," Scorpius said, looking intent.

"That'll be easy to remember," Hugo muttered, "because we have."

Scorpius shot a quelling glance at her brother and continued. "Mummy's been in the dowager

Viscountess Riddle's household."

"And our father's dead and he isn't—" Hugo's eyes widened, stricken.

"I don't know why we need to say he's dead," Scorpius muttered into the silence.

"Because he mustn't trace us, dear." Hermione swallowed and leaned forward to pat her daughter's

knee. "It's alright. If we can—"

The carriage door was wrenched open, and the coachman's scowling face peered in. "Are ye

getting out or not? It looks like rain, an' I want to be back in th' inn safe and warm when it comes,

don't I?"

"Of course." Hermione nodded regally at the coachman—by far the surliest driver they'd had on this

wretched journey. "Please fetch our bags down for us."

The man snorted. "Already done, innit?"

"Come, children." She hoped she wasn't blushing in front of the awful man. The truth was, they

had only two soft bags—one for herself and one for the children. _The coachman probably thought_

_them desolate. And in a way, he was right, wasn't he?_

She pushed the lowering thought away. Now was not the time to have discouraging thoughts. She

must be at her most alert and her most persuasive to pull this off.

She stepped from the rented carriage and looked around. The ancient castle loomed before them,

solid and silent. The main building was a squat rectangle, built of weathered soft emerald stone. High on

the corners, sharp towers projected from the walls. Before the castle was a sort of drive, once

neatly graveled but now uneven with weeds and mud. A few trees clustered about the drive struggled

to make a barricade against the rising wind. Beyond, black hills rolled gently to the darkening

horizon.

"All right, then?" The coachman was swinging up to his box, not even looking at them. "I'll be

off."

"At least leave a lantern!" Hermione shouted, but the noise of the carriage rumbling away drowned

out her voice. She stared, appalled, after the coach.

"It's dark," Hugo observed, looking at the castle.

"Mummy, there aren't any lights," Scorpius said.

She sounded frightened, and Hermione felt a surge of trepidation as well. She hadn't noticed the lack

of lights until now. _What if no one was home? What would they do then?_

_I'll cross that bridge when I come to it._ She was the adult here. A mother should make her

children feel safe.

Hermione tilted her chin and smiled for Scorpius. "Perhaps they're lit in the back where we can't see

them."

Scorpius didn't look particularly convinced by this theory, but she dutifully nodded her head. Hermione

took the bags and marched up the shallow stone steps to the huge wooden doors. They were within a

Gothic arch, almost black with age, and the hinges and bolts were iron—quite medieval. She raised

the iron ring and knocked.

The sound echoed despairingly within.

Hermione stood facing the door, refusing to believe that no one would come. The wind blew her skirts

into a swirl. Hugo scuffed his boots against the stone steps, and Scorpius sighed almost silently.

Hermione wet her lips. "Perhaps they can't hear because they're in the tower."

She knocked again.

It was dark now, the sun completely is gone, and with it the warmth of the day. It was the middle of

summer and quite hot in London, but she'd found on her journey north that the nights in Scotland could

become very cool, even in summer. Lightning flashed low on the horizon.

_What a desolate place this was!_ Why anyone would _willingly _choose to live here was beyond her understanding.

"They're not coming," Scorpius said as thunder rumbled in the distance. "No one's home, I think."

Hermione swallowed as fat raindrops pattered against her face. The last village they'd passed was ten

miles away. She had to find shelter for her children. Scorpius was right. No one was home. She'd led

them on a wild-goose chase.

She'd failed them once again.

Hermione's lips trembled at the thought. _Mustn't break down in front of the children_.

"Perhaps there's a barn or other outbuilding in—" she began when one of the great wood doors

was thrown open, startling her.

She stepped back, nearly falling down the steps. At first, the opening seemed eerily black as if a

ghostly hand had opened the door. But then something moved, and she discerned a shape within. A

man stood there, tall, lean, and very, very intimidating. He held a single candle, it's light entirely

inadequate. By his side was a great four-legged beast, far too tall to be any sort of dog that she knew

of.

"What do you want?" he hissed, his voice low and husky as if from disuse or strain. His accent

was cultured, but the tone was far from welcoming.

Hermione opened her mouth, scrambling for words. He was not at all what she'd expected. _Dear God,_

_what was that thing by his side?_

At that moment, lightning forked across the sky, close and amazingly bright. It lit the man and his

familiar as if he was on a stage. The beast was tall and black and lean, with gleaming black eyes. The

man was even worse.

Greasy, black lank hair fell in tangles pass his shoulders. He wore old breeches, gaiters,

and a black robe better suited for the rubbish heap. His face was alabaster, littered with silvery scars and his nose that threatened to turn into a hook with how gnarled it protruded. Most horrible of all were the two sunken black places where his eyes should've been.

Scorpius screamed.

* * *

**THEY ALWAYS SCREAMED**

Sir Severus Snape-Prince scowled at the woman and children on his step. Behind them the rain suddenly

let down in a wall of water, making the children crowd against their mother's skirts. Children,

particularly small ones, nearly always screamed and ran away from him. Sometimes even grown

women did. Just last year, a rather melodramatic young lady on High Street in Edinburgh had fainted at the sight of him.

Severus had wanted to slap the silly chit.

Instead, he'd scurried away like a diseased rat, hiding his face as best he could in his rough scarf and pulled-up cloak. He expected the reaction in cities and towns. It was the reason he didn't like to frequent areas where people congregate. What he didn't expect was a female child screaming on his very doorstep.

"Stop that," he growled at her, and the lass snapped her mouth shut.

There were two children, a boy, and a girl. The lad was a brown birdlike thing that could've been

anywhere from three to eight. Severus had no basis to judge since he avoided children when he

could. The girl was the elder. She was pale and blond and staring up at him with silver eyes that

looked much too large for her thin face. Perhaps it was a fault of her bloodline—such abnormalities

often denoted mental deficiency.

Her mother had eyes the color of cinnamon, he saw as he finally, reluctantly, looked at her. She was

beautiful. Of course. It would be a blazing beauty who appeared on his doorstep in a thunderstorm.

She had eyes the exact color of cinnamon, a curling mane of mahogany hair, and a magnificent bosom

that any man, even a scarred, misanthropic recluse such as himself, would find arousing. It was, after

all, the natural reaction of a human male to a human female of obvious reproductive capability,

however much he resented it.

"What do you want?" he repeated to the woman.

Perhaps the entire family was mentally deficient, because they simply stared at him, mute. The

woman's stare was fixated on his eye sockets.

Naturally.

He'd left off Glamour charms again—the damned things were a nuisance—and his face was no doubt going to inspire nightmares in her sleep tonight.

He sighed.

He'd been about to sit down to a dinner of porridge and boiled sausages when he'd heard the knocking. Wretched as his meal was, it would be even less appetizing cold.

"Carlyle Manor is a good two miles thataway." Severus tilted his head in a westerly direction. No

doubt they were guests of his neighbors gone astray.

He shut the door.

Or rather, he tried to shut the door.

The woman inserted her foot in the crack, preventing him. For a moment, he actually considered

shutting her foot in the door, but a remnant of civility asserted itself and he stopped. He looked at the

woman, his eye narrowed, and waited for an explanation.

The woman's chin tilted. "I'm your housekeeper."

Definitely a case of mental deficiency. Probably the result of aristocratic overbreeding, for

despite her lack of mental prowess, she and the children were richly dressed. Which only made her statement even more absurd.

He sighed. "I don't have a housekeeper. Really, ma'am, Carlyle Manor is just over the hill—"

She actually had the temerity to interrupt him. "No, you misunderstand. I'm your _new_

housekeeper."

"I repeat. I. Don't. Have. A. Housekeeper." He spoke slowly so perhaps her confused brain could

understand the words. "Nor do I wish for a housekeeper. I—"

"This is Castle Spinners End?"

"Aye."

"And you are Sir Severus Snape-Prince?"

He scowled. "Aye, but—"

She wasn't even looking at him. Instead, she had stooped to rummage in one of the bags at her feet. He stared at her, irritated and perplexed and vaguely aroused because her position gave him a spectacular view down the bodice of her gown. If he was a religious man, he might think this a vision. She made a sound and straightened again, smiling quite gloriously.

"Here. It's a letter from Viscountess Riddle. She's sent me here to be your housekeeper."

She was proffering a rather crumpled piece of paper. He stared at the paper a moment before snatching it from her hand. He raised the candle to provide some light to read the scrawling missive. Beside him, Lady Cissa, his deerhound, evidently decided that she wasn't getting sausages for dinner any time soon. She sighed gustily and lay down on the hall flagstones.

Severus finished reading the missive to the sound of the rain pounding steadily on his drive. Then

he looked up. He'd met Lady Riddle only once. She and her husband, Tom Riddle, Viscount Riddle,

had visited his home uninvited a little over a month ago. She hadn't struck him at the time as an

interfering female, but the letter did indeed inform him that he had a new housekeeper.

**Madness.**

What had Riddle's wife been thinking? But then it was near impossible to fathom the workings of the female

mind. He'd have to send the too-beautiful, too-richly-dressed housekeeper and her offspring away in

the morning. Unfortunately, if nothing else, they were protégés of Lady Riddle, and he couldn't very

well send them off into the dark of night.

Severus met the woman's sun-spun eyes. "What did you say your name was?" She blushed as prettily as the sun rising in the spring on the heath. "I didn't. My name is Hermione Granger. Mrs Granger. We are becoming quite wet out here, you realize." A corner of his mouth kicked up at the starch in her tone. Not a mental deficient after all. "Well, then, you and your children had better come in, Mrs. Granger."


	2. Chapter 2

I gathered intel of this time period from a multitude of smutty historical books and a few light google searches.

I have in mind that this story will be short (around 20/30) chapters or so and am in half a mind to create a little series since I keep mentioned prior events. (Would anyone be interested in a Ginny x Tom Riddle story?)

I haven't gotten around to answering any questions about _whys_ and _hows_ of Snape's unfortunate state of being yet.

Hermione is a bit OC since this time period is old and the restraints of her canon thirst for knowledge aren't really showcased here, but all will be explained away in gradual progression.

* * *

_THE TINY SMILE_ curving one side of Sir Severus's lips startled Hermione. It drew attention to a mouth both wide and firm, supple and masculine. The smile revealed him as not the gargoyle, but a man. It was gone at once, of course, as soon as he caught her looking at him. In an instant, his expression turned stony and faintly cynical.

"You'll continue to get wet until you come in, madam."

"Thank you." She swallowed and stepped into the dim hall.

"You're most kind, I'm sure, Sir Severus." He shrugged and turned away. "If you say so."

Beastly man!

He hadn't even offered to carry their bags. Of course, most gentlemen didn't carry the belongings of their housekeepers. Even so, it would've been nice to at least offer. Hermione grasped a bag in each hand. "Come, children." They had to walk quickly, almost jogging, to keep up with Sir Severus and what appeared to be the only light in the castle—his candle.

The gigantic dog padded along at his side, lean, dark, and tall. In fact, she was very like her master. They passed out of a great hall and into a dim passage. The candlelight bobbed ahead, casting eerie shadows on grimy walls and high, cobwebbed ceilings. Hugo and Scorpius trailed on either side of her. Hugo was so tired that he merely trudged along, but Scorpius was looking curiously from side to side as she hurried.

"It's terribly dirty, isn't it?" Scorpius whispered. Sir Severus turned as she spoke, and at first, Hermione thought he'd heard. "Have you eaten?" He'd halted so suddenly, Hermione nearly trod on his toes. As it was, she ended up standing much too close to him. She had to crane her neck to look him in the eye, and he held the candle near his chest, casting the light diabolically over his face.

"We had tea at the inn, but—" she began breathlessly.

"Good," he said and turned away. He called back over his shoulder as he disappeared around a corner, "You can stay the night in one of the guest rooms. I'll hire a carriage to send you back to London in the morning." Hermione gripped the bags higher and hurried to catch up. "But I really don't—" He'd already started up a narrow stone stair. "You needn't worry about the expense." For a second, Hermione paused at the bottom of the stair, glaring at the firm backside steadily receding above them. Unfortunately, the light was receding as well.

"Hurry, Mummy," Scorpius urged her. She'd taken her brother's hand like a good older sister and had already mounted the steps with Hugo. The horrid man stopped at the landing. "Coming, Mrs. Granger?"

"Yes, Sir Severus," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

"I just think that if you'll only try Lady Riddle's idea of having a—" "I don't want a housekeeper," he rasped and resumed climbing the stairs. "I find that hard to believe," Hermione panted behind him, "considering the state of the castle I've seen so far." "And yet, I enjoy my home the way it is."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She refused to believe anyone, even this beast of a man, actually enjoyed dirt. "Lady Riddle specifically instructed me—" "Lady Riddle is mistaken in her belief that I desire a housekeeper."

They'd finally reached the top of the stairs, and he paused to open a narrow door. He entered the room and lit a candle. Hermione stopped and watched him from the hall. When he came back out, she met his gaze determinedly. "You may not want a housekeeper, but it is patently obvious that you need a housekeeper." The corner of his mouth quirked again.

"You may argue all you want, madam, but the fact remains that I neither need you nor wish to have you here." He gestured to the room with one hand. The children ran in ahead. He hadn't bothered moving from the doorway, so Hermione was forced to sidle in sideways, her bosom nearly brushing his chest. She looked up at him as she passed. "I warn you, I shall make it my purpose to change your mind, Sir Severus."

He inclined his head, his one good eye glittering in the light of the candle.

"Good night, Mrs. Granger." He shut the door gently behind him. Hermione stared at the closed door a moment, then glanced about her. The room Sir Severus had led them to was large and cluttered. Hideous long drapes covered one wall, and a huge bed with thick carved posts dominated the room. A single, small fireplace sat in a corner. Shadows masked the other end of the room, but the outlines of furniture crowded together made her suspect that it was being used as storage space. Scorpius and Hugo had collapsed on the huge bed. Two weeks ago, Hermione wouldn't have let them even touch something that dusty. But then two weeks ago, she'd still been the Duke of Malfoy's mistress.

* * *

It was dark. Very, very dark.

Scorpius lay in the big bed and listened to the darkness in the castle. Beside her, Hugo was snoring in his sleep. He was right up against her, squishing himself as close as possible, his head shoved into her shoulder, his hot breath blowing on her neck. She was nearly at the edge of the bed. Mummy breathed softly on her side of the bed. The rain had stopped, but she could hear a steady drip from the eaves. It sounded like a little man walking up the wall, each measured step growing closer.

Scorpius shivered. She had to pee. Perhaps if she lay still, she'd go back to sleep. But then there was the fear of waking to a wet bed. It'd been a very long while since she'd wet the bed, but she still remembered the shame the last time it had happened. Miss Cummings, their nurse, had made her tell Mummy what she'd done. Scorpius had nearly thrown up her breakfast before she could make her confession.

In the end, Mummy hadn't been cross, but she'd looked at her with worry and pity, and that had almost been worse. Scorpius hated to disappoint Mummy. Sometimes Mummy looked at her with a sad expression, and Scorpius knew: She wasn't quite right. She didn't laugh like other girls, didn't play with dolls and have lots of friends. She liked to be by herself. Liked to think about things. And sometimes she worried about the things she thought about; she simply couldn't help herself. No matter how much it disappointed Mummy.

She sighed now. There was no use for it. She'd have to use the commode. She shifted quietly and peered over the edge of the great bed, but it was too dark to see the floor. Poking out a foot from the covers, she slowly slid until she could touch the floor with just one toe. Nothing happened.

The wood floor was cold, but there were no mice or spiders or other horrible insects. At least, not nearby. Scorpius took a breath and slid fully from the bed. Her night rail caught and hiked up, baring her legs to the cold. Above, Hugo mumbled and rolled toward Mummy. She stood and shook down her night rail, then crouched and pulled the commode out from under the bed. She scooped up her skirts and squatted over the commode. The sound of her water hitting the commode was loud in the room, drowning out the dripping footsteps from the eaves.

She sighed in relief. Something creaked outside the bedroom door. Scorpius froze, her stream still trickling into the tin commode. Flickering light crept under the door. Someone stood in the hallway. She remembered Sir Severus's horribly scarred face. He'd been so tall—taller, even, than the duke. What if he'd decided to toss them from his castle? Or worse?

Scorpius held her breath, waiting, her thighs burning from crouching over the commode, her bottom growing cold in the night air. Outside the door, someone hawked—along, scratching, liquid gurgle that turned Scorpius's stomach—and spat. Then boots scraped against the floor as he moved away. She waited until she could no longer hear the footsteps, and then she leaped up from the commode. She shoved it away and scrambled into the bed, yanking the covers over her and Hugo's head.

"Wassit?" Hugo muttered, slumping against her again. "Shh!" Scorpius hissed. She held her breath, but all she heard was the sucking sounds Hugo made as he jammed his thumb into his mouth. He wasn't supposed to do that anymore, but Miss Cummings wasn't here to scold him. Scorpius wrapped her arms tightly around her little brother. Mummy had said that they'd had to leave London. That they could no longer stay in their tall townhouse with Miss Cummings and the other servants she'd known all her life. That they had to leave pretty dresses and picture books and a lovely sponge cake with lemon curd behind. Leave everything Scorpius knew, in fact. But surely Mummy hadn't realized how awful this castle would be? How dark and dirty the halls or how scary the master? And if the duke knew how terrible this place was, wouldn't he let them come home? Wouldn't he? Scorpius lay in the dark listening to the little man climbing the walls and wished she were safe at home in London.

* * *

Hermione woke the next morning to the sun shining dimly through the window.

She'd made sure to pull the curtains the night before so they wouldn't sleep past the first light. If one could call a single feeble ray struggling through a grimy windowpane first light. Hermione sighed and scrubbed at the pane with a corner of the curtain, but she only managed to make the dust swirl greasily on the glass.

"This is the dirtiest place I've ever seen," Scorpius observed critically as she watched her brother. There were several stuffed chairs crowded into the far end of the room as if a long-ago chatelaine had stored them there and then forgotten them. Hugo was leaping from chair to chair. Each time he landed, a small cloud of dust puffed from the cushion. Already a film of dirt covered his little face.

Oh, God, how was she to do this?

The castle was filthy, it's master a nasty, rude beast of a man, and she hadn't a clue what to do first. But then, it wasn't as if she had any choice. Hermione had known what kind of man the Duke of Malfy was when she left him. The kind who didn't let go of anything that belonged to him. He may not have lain with her for years, and he may've taken other mistresses at that time, but Malfoy still considered her his mistress.

His possession.

And the children were his possessions as well. He had fathered them. Never mind that he'd hardly said two words to the children over the years or that he'd never formally acknowledged kept what was his. Had he any suspicion that she was going to flee with Scorpius and Hugo, he would've taken them from her; she had no doubt at all. Once, nearly eight years ago, when Scorpius was only an infant, Hermione had talked about leaving him. She'd returned to her townhouse from an afternoon's shopping expedition to find Scorpius gone and the nursemaid in tears. Malfoy had kept the baby until the next morning—a night that still haunted Hermione in her dreams. By the time he'd come to her door in the morning, Hermione had been nearly ill with worry.

And Malfoy?

He'd sauntered in, the baby on his arm, and explained quite clearly that if she hoped to keep her daughter by her side, she must resign herself to their relationship. She was his, and nothing and no one could alter that. So when she had made the decision to leave Malfoy, she'd known that she would be burning her bridges behind her. Malfoy must never find her if the children were to be kept safe. With the help of Lady Riddle, she'd escaped London in a borrowed carriage. She'd changed that carriage at the first inn on the road north and had continued renting different carriages as often as possible. She'd kept to the less-traveled roads and tried to attract as little attention as possible. It'd been Lady Riddle's idea for Hermione to present herself as Sir Severus's new housekeeper.

Castle Spinner's Ends was well away from society, and Lady Riddle had been sure Malfoy would never think to look for her here. In that respect, Sir Severus's domain was the perfect hideaway. But Hermione wondered if Lady Riddle had any notion of just how wretched the castle was. Or how stubborn it's master.

One step at a time. It wasn't as if she had anywhere else to go. This was the path she'd decided on, and she must make it work. The consequences of failure were simply too unthinkable to contemplate. Hugo landed awkwardly and slid off a chair in an avalanche of dust.

"Stop that, please," Hermione snapped. Both children looked at her. She didn't often raise her voice. But then, until a week or so ago, she'd had a nursemaid to take care of the children. She'd seen them when she'd wanted to—at bedtime, for tea in the afternoon, and for walks in the park. Times when both she and they had been in pleasant frames of mind. If Scorpius or Hugo became tired or angry or out of sorts, she'd always had the option of sending them back to Miss Cummings. Unfortunately, Miss Cummings had been left behind in London.

Hermione inhaled, trying to calm himself. "It's time we were at work." "What work?" Hugo asked. He got up and started kicking a cushion that had slid to the floor with him. "Sir Severus said we were to go away again this morning," Scorpius stated. "Yes, but we'll convince him otherwise, won't we?" "I want to go home." "We can't, darling. I've already told you so." Hermione smiled persuasively. She hadn't told them what Malfoy would do if he caught them. She hadn't wanted to frighten the children.

"Sir Severus does need someone to clean his castle and put it back in order, don't you think?" "Ye-es," Scorpius said. "But he said he liked his castle all dirty." "Nonsense. I think he's just too retiring to ask for help. Besides, it's our Christian duty to help those in need, and it seems to me that Sir Severus has a very large need indeed." Scorpius looked doubtful.

Hermione clapped her hands together before her too-perceptive daughter could make any more objections. "Let's go down and order a splendid breakfast for Sir Severus and something for ourselves. After that, I'll consult with the cook and maids on how best to set about cleaning and managing the castle." Even Hugo perked up at the thought of breakfast. Hermione opened the door, and they crowded into the narrow corridor outside. "I think we came this way last night," Hermione said and set off to the right. As it turned out, that wasn't the direction Sir Severus had led them, but after a few more wrong turns, they found themselves on the ground floor of the castle. Hermione noticed Scorpius dragging her heels as they tramped to the back of the castle and the presumed direction of the kitchens.

Scorpius suddenly halted. "Do I have to greet him?" "Who, dear?" Hermione asked although she knew perfectly well. "Sir Severus." "Scorpius's afraid of Sir Severus!" Hugo sang. "Am not," Scorpius said fiercely. "At least, not very. It's just…" "He startled you and you screamed," Hermione said. She looked about the dingy walls of the hallway, searching for how to reply to her daughter. Scorpius could be so sensitive. The slightest criticism sent her brooding for days. "I know you feel awkward, sweetheart, but you must think of Sir Severus's feelings as well. It can't be very nice to have a young lady scream at the sight of you."

"He must hate me," Scorpius whispered.

And Hermione's heart squeezed painfully. It was so difficult being a mother sometimes. Wanting to shield one's children from the world and their own weaknesses, and at the same time needing to instill honor and proper behavior. "I doubt he feels anything as harsh as hate," Hermione said gently. "But I think you shall have to apologize to him, don't you?" Scorpius didn't say anything, but she gave a single jerky nod, her thin face looking pale and sighed and continued in the direction of the kitchens.

Breakfast, in her opinion, generally made things better. But as it turned out, there was very little to eat in Spinner's End.

The kitchen was a vast, terribly ancient room. The plastered walls and groined ceiling had once been whitewashed, but the color was a dingy gray now. A cavernous fireplace, much in need of sweeping out, took up one whole wall. Judging from the dust on the pots piled in the cupboards, not much actual cooking was done here. Hermione looked about the room in dismay. A single dirty plate lay on one of the tables, evidence that someone had eaten a meal here recently. Surely there must be a pantry with food somewhere?

She began opening cupboards and drawers in a state of near panic. Fifteen minutes later, she examined her booty: a single sack of mealy flour, some oats, tea, sugar, and a handful of salt. She'd also found a small dried up piece of streaky bacon hanging in the larder. Hermione was staring at the supplies, wondering what could possibly be made for breakfast out of them, when the full horror of her situation finally dawned on her.

There was no cook. Indeed, she hadn't seen any servants this morning. Not a scullery maid or footman. Not a bootblack boy or a parlor maid. Had Sir Severus any servants at all? "I'm hungry, Mummy," Hugo moaned.

Hermione gazed blindly at him a moment, still dazed by the magnitude of the job ahead of her. A small voice was screaming at the back of her mind, _I can't do this! I can't do this!_ But she had no choice. She must do this. She swallowed, threw a blanket over the screaming voice in her mind, and rolled up her sleeves. "We'd better set to work, then, hadn't we?"


	3. Chapter 3

Hey, I hope you're all okay and staying safe. The bright side about being stuck in the house is that I can take the time to upload more chapters for all or most of my works. I might place one on infinite hiatus due to lost inspiration and bad writing...Humbly Requesting a Beta..

Also! Reminder! This is HP but very AU-ish.

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_Recap:_** Hermione gazed blindly at him a moment, still dazed by the magnitude of the job ahead of her. A small voice was screaming at the back of her mind,_I can't do this! I can't do this!_ But she had no choice. She must do this. She swallowed, threw a blanket over the screaming voice in her mind, and rolled up her sleeves. "We'd better set to work, then, hadn't we?"**

Severus picked up an old kitchen knife and broke the seal on a thick letter that had arrived just this morning. His name was scrawled on the outside in a large, looping, nearly illegible hand that he recognized immediately. Riddle was probably writing to exhort him once again to come to London or some other such nonsense. The viscount was a persistent man, even when shown no encouragement at all.

Severus sat in the largest of the castle towers. Four tall windows spaced evenly around the curved outside walls let in a wonderful amount of light, making the tower perfect for his study. Three wide tables took up most of the room. Their surfaces were covered with open books, maps, animal and insect specimens, magnifying glasses, paintbrushes, presses for preserving leaves and flowers, various interesting rocks, bark, bird nests, and his pencil sketches. Against the outer walls, between the windows, were glass cases and shelves holding more books, maps, and various journals and scientific papers. Beside the door was a small fireplace, lit even though the day was warm.

Lady Cissa was getting on in years, and she enjoyed warming herself on the little rug in front of the fire. She sprawled there, taking her morning nap as Severus worked behind the largest table, which also served as his desk. Earlier they'd gone on their morning ramble. They no longer walked as far as they used to, and Severus had been forced to slow his stride in the last couple of weeks to let Lady keep pace. Soon he'd have to leave the old girl behind. But he'd worry about that another day.

Severus unfolded the letter and perused it as the fire gently crackled. It was early in the morning, and he had no doubt that his unexpected guests of the night before were still sleeping. Despite her claim to be a housekeeper, Mrs. Granger struck him as more of a society lady. Perhaps she was here on a wager, some other aristocratic lady daring her to beard the revoltingly scarred Sir Severus in his castle den. The thought was a terrible one, making him ashamed and angry at the same time. But then he remembered that she'd been genuinely shocked by his appearance. That at least wasn't part of some game. And in any case, Lady Riddle was not the type of frivolous woman to play such tricks.

Severus sighed and tossed the letter on the table before him. No mention of Riddle's wife's scheme to send him a supposed housekeeper. Instead, the letter was full of Riddle's news about the Spinner's Falls traitor and the death of Matthew Horn—a false trail abruptly cut short. He lightly traced the border of his eye patch as he gazed out the tower window.

Six years ago in the American Colonies, Spinner's Falls was the place where the 28th Regiment of Foot had fallen in an ambush. Nearly the entire regiment had been massacred by Wyandot Death Eaters, allies of the French. The few survivors—including Severus—had been captured and marched through the woods of New England. And when they'd made the Death Eaters camp . . .

He dropped his hand to touch a corner of the letter. He'd not even been a member of the 28th. His was a civilian position. Charged with discovering and describing the flora and fauna of New England, Severus had been three months from returning to England when he'd had the misfortune of walking into Spinner's Falls.

Three months.

Had he stayed behind with the rest of the British army in Quebec as originally planned, he wouldn't even have been at Spinner's carefully refolded the letter. Now Riddle and another survivor, a Colonial named Newt Scamander, had evidence that the 28th had been betrayed at Spinner's Falls. That a traitor had given the French and their Wyandot Death Eater allies the day when they'd pass by Spinner's Falls. Riddle and Scamander were convinced that they could find this traitor and eventually expose and punish him. Severus tapped the letter gently against his desk. Ever since Riddle's visit, the thought of a traitor had begun to fester in his mind. That such a man was still free—still alive—while so many good men were dead was unbearable.

Three weeks ago, he'd finally taken action. If there was a traitor, he'd almost certainly dealt with the French. Who better to ask about the traitor than a Frenchman? He had a colleague in France, a man named Lucius Malfoy, who he'd written and asked if he had heard any rumors about Spinner's Falls. Since then, he'd been waiting impatiently for a reply from Lucius. He frowned. Relations with France were terrible, as usual, but surely— His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the tower door. Mrs. Granger entered carrying a tray.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he rasped, surprise making his words harsher than he'd intended. She stopped, her small, pretty mouth turning down with displeasure. "I've brought you your breakfast, Sir Severus."

He refrained with an effort from asking what she could've possibly brought him for breakfast. Unless she'd caught the castle mice and fried them up, there wasn't much of anything to eat. He'd dined on the last of the sausages the night before. She glided forward and made to set the tray on a rather valuable Italian tome on insects.

"Not there." At his command, she froze, half-bent. "Ah, just a moment." He hastily cleared a space, stacking papers on the floor beside his chair. "Here will do."

She set the tray down and uncovered a dish. On it reposed two ragged slices of bacon, crisped within an inch of their lives, and three small, hard biscuits. Beside the plate was a large bowl of porridge and a cup of inky black tea.

"I would've brought up a pot of tea," Mrs. Granger was saying as she busied herself arranging the dishes on his desk, "but you don't seem to have one. A teapot, that is. As it was, I was forced to boil the tea in a cooking pot."

"Broke last month," Severus muttered. What scheme was this? And was he expected to consume this dreck in front of her? She looked up, all rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes, damn her.

"What did?"

"The teapot." Thank God he'd put on his eye patch this morning.

"This is most, ah, kind of you, Mrs. Granger, but you needn't have bothered."

"No bother at all," she blatantly lied. He knew full well the state of his kitchen. He narrowed his eye.

"I expect that you'll want to leave this morning—"

"I shall just have to get another, shan't I? A teapot, I mean," she said as if she'd suddenly gone deaf.

"The tea just doesn't taste the same boiled in a cooking pot. I think ceramic teapots are the best."

"I shall order a carriage—"

"There are people who prefer metal—"

"From the village—"

"Silver's quite dear, of course, but a nice little tin teapot—"

"So you can leave me in peace!" His last words emerged as a bellow.

Lady Grey raised her head from the hearth. For a moment, Mrs. Granger stared at him with large, harebell-blue eyes. Then she opened her lush mouth and said, "You can afford a tin teapot, can't you?" Lady Grey sighed and turned back to the warmth of the fire.

"Aye, I can afford a tin teapot!" He closed his eye a moment, irritated that he'd let her draw him into her babble. Then he looked at her and took a breath. "But you'll be leaving just as soon as I can —"

"Nonsense."

"What did you say?" he rasped very gently. She raised her impertinent chin.

"I said nonsense. You obviously need me. Did you know that you have hardly any food in the castle? Well, of course, you ly it will not do. It will not do at all. I shall do some shopping as well when I go to the village for the teapot."

"I don't need—"

"I don't need—"

"I do hope you don't expect us to live on oats and streaky bacon?" She set her hands on her hips and glared at him in an entirely becoming manner. He frowned. "Of course I—"

"And the children need some fresh vegetables. I expect you do as well."

"Don't you—"

"I'll go to the village this afternoon, shall I?"

"Mrs. Granger—"

"And that teapot, do you prefer ceramic or tin?"

"Ceramic, but—" He was talking to an empty room.

She'd already closed the door gently behind her. Severus stared at the door. He'd never been so completely routed in all his life—and by a pretty little slip of a woman, he'd thought half-witted the night before.

Lady Grey had raised her head at Mrs. Granger's exit. Now she lay it back down on her paws and seemed to give him a pitying look. "At least I got to choose the teapot," Severus muttered defensively. Lady Grey groaned and turned over.

* * *

Hermione closed the tower door behind her and then couldn't resist a small grin.

_ Ha!_

She'd definitely won that round with Sir Beastly. She hurried down the tower stairs before he could come to the door and call her back.

The stairs were old stone, worn and shallow, and the walls of the tower were bare stone as well until she came to a door at the bottom of the stairs. This led to a narrow hall that was dim and musty but at least paneled and carpeted.

She hoped that Sir Severus's breakfast wasn't too cold, but if it was, it was his own fault. It'd taken her a while to find him this morning. She'd been all over the gloomy upper floors of the castle until it had finally occurred to her that she should try the towers. She should've thought he'd be lurking in an old tower like something out of a tale meant to terrify children.

She'd braced herself before opening the door so that she wouldn't react to his appearance. Fortunately, he'd worn an eye patch this morning. But he still let his black hair hang around his shoulders, and she didn't think he'd shaved in a week or more. His jaw had been quite shadowed with stubble. She wouldn't be at all surprised if he kept it that way to intimidate people.

Hermione paused at the memory.

She hadn't noticed his hand last night, but this morning when she'd opened the door to the tower, he'd been holding a sheet of paper between his middle two fingers and thumb. His forefinger and little finger were missing on his right hand. What caused such a horrible mutilation? Had he been in some accident? And had this terrible accident also scarred his face and cost his eye? If so, he wouldn't welcome her pity or even sympathy.

She bit her lip at the thought. Her last sight of Sir Severus gave her a twinge of remorse. He'd been surly and unkempt. Rude and sarcastic. Everything she'd expected after the night before. But there was something else. He'd sat at that huge table, barricaded behind his books and papers and mess and he'd looked

. . . Lonely.

Hermione blinked, gazing around the dim little passageway.

Well, that was just silly. He'd make a terribly cutting remark if she told him her impression of him. She'd never met a man less likely to take kindly to the concern of another human being. And yet, there it was:

He'd seemed lonely to her. He lived all alone, far from civilization in this great dirty castle, his only company a big dog. Could anyone, even a man who seemed to dislike people, be truly happy in such a circumstance?

She shook her head and began marching toward the kitchen again. There was no place in her life at the moment for such sentimental thoughts. She couldn't afford to be swayed by soft emotions. She'd done that once and look where it'd gotten her—fleeing in fear with her children. No, better to be pragmatic about the castle and its master. She had Scorpius and Hugo to consider.

Hermione rounded the corner and heard shouting from the castle kitchen. Good Lord! What if a tramp or some other villain had invaded the kitchen? Scorpius and Hugo were in there alone!

She picked up her skirts and ran the rest of the way, bursting into the kitchen quite out of breath. The sight that met her didn't do anything to calm her fears. A short, hunched back man was waving his arms and shouting at the children, who were arrayed before him. Scorpius held an iron skillet in both hands, resolute, though her face was pale. Behind his sister, Hugo hopped from one foot to the other, his eyes wide and excited.

"—all of you! Thieves and murderers, a-stealin' into places you don't belong! Hangin's too good for you!"

"Out!" Hermione bellowed.

She advanced on the creature haranguing her children. "Out, I say!"

The little man jumped and whirled at the sound of her voice. He wore filthy grey robes over too-big breeches and dingy patched stockings. His hair was a graying mousy brown, and it was tied into two long locks on either side of his head. He had wide, watery grey eyes, but he narrowed them at the sight of her. "Who're you?"

Hermione drew herself up. "I am Mrs. Granger, Sir Severus's housekeeper. Now, you must remove yourself from this kitchen, or I shall be forced to call Sir Severus himself."

The little man gaped. "Dinna talk nonsense, woman. Sir Severus doesn't have a housekeeper. I'm his man. I'd know if he had one!"

For a moment, Hermione stared at the repulsive creature, nonplussed. She'd begun to think Sir Severus hadn't any help at all. Indeed, that prospect, dim as it had been, was preferable to the nasty manservant in front of her.

"What is your name?" she finally asked. The little man threw out his thin chest. "Filch." Hermione nodded and folded her arms. The one thing she'd learned in her years in London was not to show fear before bullies.

"Well, then, Mr. Filch, Sir Severus may not've had a housekeeper in the past, but he has one now, and I am she."

"Go on with you!"

"I assure you it's true, and what's more, you'd best get used to the idea." Filch scratched his rear end contemplatively.

"Well, if'n it's true, you got a wagon load of hard work on yer hands."

"Indeed." Hermione softened her tone. The little man had no doubt been startled to find strangers in the castle kitchen.

"I hope I can count on your help, Mr. Filch." "Ur," he grunted noncommittally. She let it go for the moment.

"Now. Would you care for some breakfast?"

"Naw." Filch shuffled to the hall.

"Hisself will be wantin' ta see me and give me his orders for the day, won't he?" He stomped out of the kitchen. Scorpius set the iron skillet on a table.

"That man smells."

"He does indeed," Hermione said. "But we shouldn't hold that against him. However, I want you both to stay out of his way when I'm not by your side." Hugo nodded vigorously, while Scorpius merely looked worried.

"Well, enough of that," Hermione said briskly.

"Let's do the washing up, and then we'll start on the kitchen."

"We're going to clean this kitchen?" Hugo gaped at the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

"Of course." Hermione said it confidently, ignoring the flutter of trepidation in her stomach. The kitchen was very dirty.

"Now. Let's go fetch some water to wash with." They'd found the old pump in a corner of the stable yard just this morning. She'd pumped one bucket of water then, but she'd used it all up in making breakfast. Hugo carried the tin bucket as they all tramped out to the stable yard. Hermione grasped the pump handle and gave an encouraging smile to the children before hauling it up with both hands. Unfortunately, the pump was rather rusted, and it took a great deal of effort to work it.

Ten minutes later, Hermione pushed sweaty hair off her forehead and eyed the half-full bucket.

"It's not very much," Scorpius said dubiously.

"Yes, well, it'll do for now," Hermione panted. She took the bucket and returned to the kitchen, the children trailing behind. She set the bucket down and bit her lip.

The water had to be heated to wash the dishes, but she'd let the fire go out since breakfast. Only a few embers still glowed in the fireplace ashes. Mr. Filch entered the kitchen as she was standing and staring at the hearth in dismay. The little man looked from her to the pitiful bucket of water and grunted.

"Had a grand start, have ye? Why, th' kitchen's so clean it near blinds me eyes t' look at it. Well, never fear. Yer stay is fixin' to be short. Hisself is sendin' me to fetch a carriage from th' village."

Hermione straightened in dismay. "I'm sure that won't be necessary, Mr. Filch." The little man merely snorted and left.

"Mama," Scorpius said quietly, "if Sir Severus is sending for a carriage for us to go home in, maybe we don't have to clean the kitchen after all."

Hermione felt sudden weariness sweep over her. She wasn't a housekeeper. She didn't know how to clean a kitchen or even know enough to keep the fire burning, it seemed. What was she doing, attempting a task this insurmountable? Perhaps Sir Severus was right. Perhaps she should admit defeat and take the carriage away from the castle.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: HELLO! **

**A kind soul by the name of _NothingRhymesWithOrange_ has decided to bless me with editing/beta-ish work. I'm so pumped and I hope you all are too! Thank you so much for the lovely reviews by the way. I'm eager to hear what you guys think of everything so far.**

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**Recap: Perhaps Sir Severus was right. Perhaps she should admit defeat and take the carriage away from the castle.**

Hermione let her head loll against the carriage side as they swept around a bend, and the castle disappeared from view.

"It was a very dirty castle," Scorpius said from across the carriage. Hermione sighed. "Yes, my love, it was."

A very dirty castle with a surly master—and she'd let them both defeat her. She'd seen movement in the high tower window as they'd tramped out to the waiting rented carriage. No doubt Sir Beastly had been gloating over her rout.

"Our house in London is much nicer," Scorpius said. "And maybe the duke will be happy that we've come back."

Hermione closed her eyes.

No. No, he wouldn't.

Scorpius obviously thought that they'd be returning home to London now, but that wasn't an option. Draco wouldn't welcome them with open arms. He'd steal the children from her and toss her into the street. And that was if she was lucky.

She looked at Scorpius and tried to smile. "We won't be going back to London, dearest one." Scorpius's face fell.

"But—"

"We'll just have to find another place to stay." And hide.

"I want to go home," Hugo said. A headache started at her temple.

"We can't go home, sweetheart." Hugo's lower lip protruded.

"I want—"

"It's simply not possible." Hermione inhaled and then said in a quieter voice, "I'm sorry, my darlings. Mama has an aching head. Let's discuss this later. For now, all you need to know is that we must find another place to stay." But where else could they go? Castle Spinner's End might've been filthy and it's master impossible, but as a hiding place, it'd been perfect.

She patted her skirts, feeling for the little leather bag that hung under them. Inside were some coins and quite a few jewels—the nest egg she'd saved from Draco's gifts. She had money but finding a place where a single woman with two children wouldn't excite comment was going to be difficult.

"Shall I read to you from the fairy-tale book?" Scorpius asked very quietly. Hermione looked at her and tried to smile. Her daughter really was a dear sometimes. "Yes, please. I think I'd like that." Scorpius's face smoothed in relief, and she bent to rummage in the soft bag at her feet.

Beside her, Hugo bounced on his seat. "Read from the story about the man with the iron heart!"

Scorpius drew out a bundle of papers and very carefully paged through them until she came to the place she wanted. She cleared her throat and began reading slowly.

"Once upon a time, long, long ago, there came four soldiers traveling home after many years of war.…" Hermione closed her eyes, letting her daughter's high clear voice wash over her.

The fairy-tale "book" she read from was actually a bundle of loose papers. The original book was written in German, and Lady Riddle translated the tales for her friend, Lady Scamander.

When the viscountess had sent Hermione and her children north, she'd requested that Hermione transcribe it so that she might eventually have the translation bound for Lady Scamander. All the long journey into Scotland, Hermione had read the stories to the children, and now they were familiar favorites.

Hermione glanced out the window. Outside, the yellow and green hills rolled by, bringing them closer to the little village of Hogsmeade.

If she was still Sir Beastly's housekeeper, she could've bought groceries there. Something more appetizing than moldering bacon and oats.

Oh, if only she wasn't so terribly useless! She'd spent her entire adult life as the plaything of a rich gentleman. She'd never been trained in anything practical. Except... that wasn't quite true.

Once upon a time, before Draco, before she'd broken ties with her family when she was still young and innocent, she used to help her father as he made his rounds. Papa had been a Healer—quite a successful one—and sometimes when he visited patients, she had accompanied him.

Oh, not to help with the healing—that was considered too distasteful a task for a young girl—but she'd kept a little notebook in which she'd written his thoughts on the various patients they attended, kept a calendar of appointments, and made lists.

Lots of lists.

She'd been Papa's helper, his organizer of lists. The one who kept his life and business in order. It hadn't been a big job, but it had been an important one. And, now that she thought about it, wasn't that really what most housekeepers were?

Certainly, they needed to know how to clean and run a house, but didn't they often delegate these jobs to other people? Hermione sat up so suddenly that Scorpius stuttered to a stop.

"What is it, Mama?"

"Hush, darling. Let me think. I have an idea." The carriage had reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It was a tiny village in comparison to London, but it held everything a small, isolated community needed: shops, craftsmen, and people who could be hired.

Hermione half stood in the swaying carriage and pounded on the roof. "Stop! Oh, stop the carriage!" The carriage jerked to a stop, nearly throwing her back on the seat. "What are we doing?" Hugo asked excitedly and Hermione couldn't help but grin at him. "It's time to enlist reinforcements."

* * *

Severus spent the afternoon in his tower writing—or at least trying to write.

Like many previous days, the words simply refused to form. Instead, he filled a basket with crumpled sheets of paper, each covered in the crossed-out attempts at an essay on badgers. He couldn't even find the first sentence. Writing had once been as easy as breathing for him, and now… now he feared he would never again finish an essay.

He felt like a broken fool.

When four o'clock came and he noticed that Lady Cissa had wandered from the tower, he took it as a good excuse to abandon his wretched attempts and go looking for the dog. Besides, he hadn't eaten anything since that execrable morning meal.

The castle was silent as he made his way down the winding tower stairs. It was nearly always silent, of course, but last night, when Mrs. Granger and her children had occupied his home, it had seemed less dead. He shook his head at the morbid thought.

He'd watched the woman leave this morning and had rejoiced at once again being virtually alone—Filch hardly bothered him at all. It was good to be alone. Good to not be interrupted at work. When he could work.

Severus scowled as he reached the hallway, and strode to his own rooms first. Lady Cissa liked to nap in a spot of sunlight under the windows in the afternoons.

But his rooms were as he'd left them this morning: empty and untidy. He frowned at his unmade bed, the coverlet and sheets trailing on the floor. Hmm. Perhaps a housekeeper wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all.

He returned to the hall and called, "Lady Cissa!" No scratch of claws on the stone floor heralded her approach. Most of the other rooms were closed off on this floor, so he proceeded to the next. Here there was an old sitting-room he sometimes used. He looked, but Lady Cissa wasn't lying on either of the overstuffed settees.

Further down the hall was the room he'd given to Mrs. Granger. He glanced in and didn't learn anything besides the fact that her bed had been made. She might not even be here at all, so forlorn did the room look. From outside he thought he heard the sound of her carriage pulling away again. Fanciful nonsense.

He continued his search. On the main floor, he checked all the rooms without success, ending in the library.

"Lady Cissa!"

He stood staring at the dusty library a moment. There was a patch of afternoon sun where a curtain had fallen and never been replaced, and sometimes she would nap here. But not today. Severus frowned. Lady Cissa was over a decade old and noticeably slowing down.

Dammit.

He turned and strode toward the kitchen. Lady Cissa didn't usually go there without him. She and Filch didn't get on, and the kitchen was where the manservant hung about the most fact—

He halted abruptly at the sound of voices. High, childish voices. He wasn't being fanciful now— there were children in his kitchen. And the odd thing—the completely unexpected thing—was that his first emotion was gladness.

They hadn't left him after all. His castle wasn't really dead. Of course, that was followed very quickly with outrage. How dare she defy his command?

She should be halfway to Edinburgh by now. He'd order another carriage, and he'd pack her pretty arse on it himself if he had to this time. There was no room in his castle, in his life, for a too-attractive housekeeper and her pair of brats. Severus started forward, his intent focused, his stride firm. And then the childish voices clarified into words.

". . . can't go back to London, Hugo," the girl was saying. "Don't see why not," the boy replied in a mutinous voice. "Because of him. Mama said so." Severus frowned. Mrs. Granger couldn't return to London because of a man? Who? Her husband?

She'd presented herself as a widow, but if her husband was still alive and she'd fled him… Dammit. The man might've hurt her. There were very few things a woman could do if she married badly, but fleeing her husband was one of them. This puts a different angle on things. Which wasn't to say that he had to welcome her back with open arms.

Severus felt a wicked smile curve his lips. He sobered and entered the kitchen. The children were at the far end of the room, squatting by the hearth. At his appearance, they both rose hastily, turning guilty faces toward him.

Revealed between them was Lady Cissa, lying before the small fire. She was on her back, her large paws in the air. She turned a sheepish face toward him, her ears flopping comically upside down, but she made no move to rise. Why should she? Quite obviously she'd been receiving the adoration of the children.

Humph.

The boy stepped forward. " 'Tisn't her fault, really! She's a nice dog. We were just petting her. Don't be angry." What kind of ogre did this child think of him?

Severus scowled and advanced toward them. "Where is your mother?" The boy glanced over his shoulder at the outside kitchen door and backed up a step as he talked.

"In the stable yard." What was she doing in the stable yard of all places? Bathing his gelding, Salazar? Winding daisies in his mane?

"And what are you two doing here?" The girl moved around her brother so that her body shielded his. She stood very stiff, her thin little chest nearly quivering with tension. "We came back."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. She looked like a martyr ready for the torch. "Why?"

She looked at him with those mysterious silver eyes. "Because you need us." He halted his advance.

"What?" She drew in a breath and spoke carefully. "Your castle is dirty and awful, and you need us to make it nice."

* * *

**EN**: Now I kinda regret calling Draco and Hermy's daughter Scorpius, I should've named her Narcissa.

Is it too late to change her name now? **(T-T)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: HI! I'm ALIVE and well, besides the added stress of accelerated summer class courses. We haven't figured out a normal posting schedule yet. I made this one a little longer. Also I have decided not to change Scorpius's name. But Draco did name her so it adds to his basic douche bag character for this story. **

**Enjoy!**

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**_Recap: She looked at him with those mysterious silver eyes. "Because you need us." He halted his advance._**

**_ "What?" She drew in a breath and spoke carefully. "Your castle is dirty and awful, and you need us to make it nice."_**

Scorpius stared up at Sir Severus's face.

Sometimes, on the carriage ride to Scotland, they'd passed huge stones, planted upright in fields, standing all by themselves. Mama had said they were called standing stones and that some ancient people had put them there, to barricade the muggles from seeing their magic.

Sir Severus was like one of those standing stones—large and hard and sort of scary. His legs went on for miles, and his shoulders were wide and his face… She swallowed.

He had a dark beard that was patchy because it didn't grow on the scars on one side of his face. The scars ran through his beard, silvery and ugly. He'd covered one empty eye socket today with an eye patch. The other held a fake eye. She was grateful for the eye patch and fake eye, otherwise, she might not have been able to look him in the face at all. His one eye was black, the color of tea without milk, and he looked down at her like she was an insect. A beetle, perhaps. One of those horrid black ones that scuttled away when someone overturned a rock.

"Huh," Sir Severus said. He cleared his throat with a grating, rumbling sound. Then he frowned. When he frowned, the scars twisted on his cheek.

Scorpius looked down. She wasn't sure what to do next. She should apologize to him for screaming at him last night, but she didn't quite have the courage.

Her new apron was pinned to her bodice, and she plucked at it. She'd never worn an apron before, but Mama had bought one for herself and one for Scorpius in the village. She said they'd need them if they were to set the castle kitchen to didn't think cleaning a castle would be near as fun as Mama was trying to pretend.

She peeked up at Sir Severus. The corners of his mouth were turned down, but oddly his frown wasn't half as frightening as it'd been the night before. She cocked her head. If Sir Severus hadn't been a very big, very stern sort of gentleman, she might've thought that he didn't know what to do next, either.

"There was hardly any food in the pantry this morning," she said. "I know." His mouth went flat.

Hugo had gone back to the big gray dog by the fire. He'd been the one to see her when they'd come in the kitchen. He'd run over to pet the dog, despite Scorpius's warnings. Hugo adored dogs of all kinds, and he never seemed to think that they might bite him. Scorpius always thought about being bitten when she saw a strange dog.

She had a sudden longing for home, in London, where she knew everyone and where everything was familiar. If they were at home right now, she and Hugo would be having tea and bread with Miss Cummings. Although she'd never been very fond of Miss Cummings, the thought of her pinched, narrow face and the bread and butter she always served made Scorpius's chest ache. Mama said they might never return to London.

Now Sir Severus was frowning down at the big dog as if he might be cross with her.

"Mama will be in soon," Scorpius said to distract him. "Ah," he said. The old dog put a paw on his boot. Sir Severus glanced up at Scorpius, and she stepped back. He was so stern-looking. "What are your names?"

"I'm Scorpius," she said, "and that's Hugo."

"We're to have tea when Mama comes in," Hugo said. He didn't seem at all nervous at Sir Severus's presence. But then he was blissfully rubbing the dog's ears. Sir Severus grunted.

"And eggs and ham and bread and jam," Hugo recited. He often forgot things, but not things that had to do with food. "She's going to make some for you as well," Scorpius said cautiously. "She isn't a very good cook," Hugo said.

Scorpius frowned. "Hugo!"

"Well, she isn't! She's never done it before, has she? We always—"

"Hush!" Scorpius whispered fiercely. She was afraid that Hugo was about to say that they'd always had their own servants. He was so stupid sometimes, even if he was only five. Hugo looked at her with wide eyes, and then they both looked at Sir Severus.

He was hunched down, scratching the dog under her chin. Scorpius noticed that his hand was missing two fingers. She shivered in disgust. Maybe he hadn't heard them? Hugo rubbed his nose.

"She's a nice dog." The dog tilted her head and waved a great paw in the air as if she'd understood Hugo. Sir Severus nodded. "That she is."

"I've never seen one so big." Hugo began stroking the dog again. "What kind is she?"

"A deerhound," Sir Severus said. "Her name is Lady Cissa. My ancestors used hounds like her to hunt deer."

"Cool!" Hugo said. "Have you ever hunted deer with her?"

Sir Severus shook his head. "Deer are rare in these parts. The only thing Lady Cissa hunts anymore is sausages." Scorpius carefully bent and touched Lady Cissa's warm head. She made sure to stay far enough

away from Sir Severus so that she didn't accidentally brush him. The dog licked her fingers with a long tongue.

"She's still a nice dog, even if it's only sausages she hunts." Scorpius froze, her fingers clutching Lady Cissa's wiry fur. She was so close to him that she could see lighter bits of grey like a star around the center of his eye. They were almost silver-colored, those bits.

Sir Severus wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning anymore, either. His face was still horrible to look at, but there was something almost sad about it, too. She drew in her breath to say something. At that moment, the outside kitchen door blew open. "Who's ready for tea?" Mama asked.

* * *

Hermione stopped at the sight of Sir Severus kneeling with her children by the hearth.

Oh, dear.

She'd rather hoped he'd not discover their return until after she'd made some tea. Not only might a meal pacify him, but she could also use a bite or two before confronting Sir Beastly. Shopping was much harder work than she'd first supposed. But a respite was not to be. Sir Severus rose to his feet slowly, his worn boots scraping on the hearth's flagstones.

Goodness!

She'd seen him just this morning, but already she'd forgotten how tall he was—how big in general, really, especially standing next to Scorpius and Hugo—and how intimidating. That was probably why she was just a little bit short of breath.

He smiled, and the expression made the back of her neck tickle. "Mrs. Granger."

She swallowed and tilted her chin. "Sir Severus."

He prowled toward her, athletic, male, and rather dangerous. "I confess your presence in my kitchen is something of a surprise."

"Is it?"

"I believe"—he circled behind her, and she twisted her neck to try and keep him in her sight —"that I dismissed you just this morning."

Hermione cleared her throat. "About that—"

"I'm almost certain, in fact, that I saw you leave in a carriage."

"Well, I—"

"A carriage I hired to take you away." Was that his breath against the back of her neck? She turned, but he was several paces away, by the fireplace now.

"I explained to the driver that you'd made a mistake."

"I made a mistake?" His gaze dropped to the basket she carried in her hands. "You've been to the village, then, madam?"

She tilted her chin. No use letting him intimidate her. "Yes, I have."

"And you've bought eggs, ham, bread, and jam."

He stalked straight toward her, his long stride eating up the few feet between them. "Yes, I have." She shied away—entirely inadvertently! —and found herself against the kitchen table.

"And what sort of mistake did you tell the carriage driver I'd made?" He plucked the basket from her hand. "Oh!" She reached for her basket, but he carelessly held it up out of reach.

"Tut, tut, Mrs. Granger. You were about to tell me how you convinced the driver to bring you back here." He took the ham out of the basket and set it on the kitchen table. "Did you bribe the man?"

"Certainly not." She watched him worriedly as he placed the bread and jam beside the ham.

Was he angry? Amused? The problem was she simply couldn't tell. She expelled an exasperated breath. "I told him that you were confused." He looked at her.

"Confused."

If the table hadn't been at her back, she might've fled. "Yes. Confused. I said I only needed the carriage to do my shopping in Hogsmeade."

"Is that so?" He'd emptied the basket by now and was examining the contents laid out on the table. Besides the jam, ham, bread, and eggs, she'd purchased tea, a lovely brown-glazed teapot, butter, four nice round apples, a bunch of carrots, a wedge of creamy yellow cheese, and a herring. He turned his gaze to her.

"What a magnificent feast. Did you use your own money?" Hermione blushed. Naturally, she'd had to use her own money.

"Well, I—"

"How very generous of you, madam," he rasped.

"I don't think I've never heard of a housekeeper using her own funds for her master."

"I'm sure you'll repay me—"

"Are you?" he murmured.

She set her hands on her hips and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. This afternoon had been the most trying of her entire life. "Yes, I'm sure. You'll repay me because I begged and bullied that wretched driver into stopping in Hogsmeade. Then I had to find the shops, wheedle the baker to reopen his shop—he closes at noon, would you believe?—bargain the butcher down from his quite scandalous prices, and tell the grocer I wasn't going to buy wormy apples."

She didn't even mention the task that'd taken up most of her time in the village. "And after that I had to persuade the carriage driver into bringing us back here and helping me unload the carriage. So, yes, the very least you could do is repay me!"

A corner of those wide sensuous lips twitched. Hermione leaned forward, on the verge of violence. "And don't you dare laugh at me!"

"I wouldn't dream of it." He reached for a knife in a drawer. "Scorpius, can you put the kettle on for tea by yourself?" He began to slice the bread. "Yes, sir." Scorpius jumped to help.

Hermione let her arms fall, feeling a bit deflated. "I want to try it again. The housekeeping, I mean."

"And I, as the master of the house, am to have no say in the matter, I see. No, don't touch that."

This last was directed at her as she began to unwrap the ham. "It'll have to be boiled, and that'll take hours."

"Well, really."

"Yes, really, Mrs. Granger." He glanced at her with that dark eye. "You can butter the bread. I'm assuming, of course, that you are capable of buttering bread?"

She didn't bother replying to that insulting remark but merely took up a butter knife and began applying butter. His mood seemed to have lightened, but he still hadn't indicated if he'd let her and the children stay. Hermione bit her lip, darting a sideways glance at him. He looked perfectly content slicing bread. She blew out a breath. Easy for him to be at ease; he didn't have to worry if he'd have a roof over his head tonight.

Sir Severus didn't speak again for a bit but sliced and handed her bread to butter. Scorpius had brought out the tea, and now she rinsed the new teapot with hot water before filling it. Soon they all sat down to a meal of tea, buttered bread, jam, apples, and cheese.

It wasn't until Hermione bit into her second slice of bread that she realized how very odd this might look to anyone walking in. The master of the castle eating with his housekeeper and her children in the kitchen. She glanced at Sir Severus and found him watching her. His long black hair fell over his brow and eye patch, giving him the appearance of a surly highwayman.

He smiled—not very nicely—and she was put on the alert.

"I've been wondering something, Mrs. Granger," he rasped in his broken voice. She swallowed. "Yes?"

"What, exactly, was your position in the dowager Viscountess Riddle's household?"

Damn.

"Well, I did do some housekeeping." Technically true since Draco had set her up in her own house. Of course, she'd had a paid housekeeper. . . .

"But you weren't the official housekeeper, I'm thinking, or Lady Riddle would've said so in her letter."

Hermione hastily took another bite of bread so she could think. Sir Severus watched her in that disconcerting way, making her quite self-conscious. Other men had stared at her before, she was considered a beauty, and it was only false modesty not to admit the fact.

And, of course, as the Duke of Draco's mistress, she'd been an object of curiosity. So she was used to being stared at by men. But Sir Severus's gaze was different. Those other men had looked at her with lust or speculation or crass curiosity, but they hadn't been looking at her really. They'd been looking at what she represented to them: physical love or a valuable prize or an object to be gawked at. When Sir Severus stared at her, well, he was looking at her. Hermione the woman. Which was rather disconcerting. It was almost as if she were naked before him.

"You certainly weren't the cook," he murmured now, interrupting her thoughts. "I think we've established that." She shook her head. "Perhaps you were a type of paid companion?" She swallowed.

"Yes, I think you might call my position that."

"And yet I've never heard tell of a companion who was allowed to keep her children with her." Hermione glanced at the children across the table. Hugo was intent on devouring an apple, but Scorpius looked back and forth between Hermione and Sir Severus with a worried expression.

Hermione threw the abominable man her best smile along with a conversational bomb. "Have I told you about the two footmen, three maids, and the cook I hired in town today?"

* * *

Mrs. Granger was the most astonishing woman, Severus reflected as he deliberately set down his teacup. She was bent on staying at Castle S.E, despite his inhospitality; on buying teapots and food; on, in fact, becoming his housekeeper of all things; and now she'd hired an entire staff of servants. She quite took his breath away.

"You've hired half a dozen servants," he said slowly. Her brows drew together, making two small lines in her otherwise smooth forehead.

"Yes."

"Servants I neither want nor need."

"I think there can be no question that you need them," she replied. "I've dealt with Mr. Filch. He seems unreliable."

"Filch is unreliable. Also cheap. Your servants will expect to be paid well, won't they?" Grown men had been known to flee when he spoke thus but, not she. She tilted up her softly rounded chin.

"Yes." Fascinating. She appeared to have no fear of him.

"What if I don't have the money?"

Her beautiful sun spun eyes widened. Had that thought never occurred to her? That a man who lived in a castle might not have servants because he couldn't afford them?

"I… I don't know," she stammered. "I do have the money to hire servants if I wished to."

He smiled kindly. "I don't."

Actually, Severus supposed he could be called rich if the reports from his man of business were to be believed. Investments he'd made before he set off for the American Colonies had done very well. Then, too, his book describing the flora and fauna of New England had been a rather spectacular success. So, yes, he had money to hire a half dozen servants—or dozens more if he cared. Ironic, really, considering that he'd never set out to make a fortune.

"Why not hire servants if you have the money?" She seemed honestly perplexed. Severus leaned back in his ancient kitchen chair.

"Why should I spend my money on servants that are useless to me?" He didn't add, servants who would no doubt loiter in the halls to stare at him and his scars.

"Cooks aren't useless," Hugo objected. Severus raised his eyebrows at the lad. Hugo sat across from him, his elbows flat on the table, a slice of bread with jam between his hands.

"Indeed?"

"Not if they can make steak pie," the boy pointed out. He had jam smeared on either side of his face. There was a spot of jam on the table in front of him as well.

"Or custard." Severus felt his mouth quirk. Warm custard, fresh from the oven, had been a favorite of his as well when he'd been Hugo's age. "Can this cook make steak pie and custard?"

"I believe so," Mrs. Granger primly stated.

"Pleeease may we keep the cook?" Hugo's eyes were wide and earnest.

"Hugo!" Scorpius chided. Her eyes weren't pleading at all. Interesting.

"I don't think Mama can make a steak pie. Do you?" Hugo whispered hoarsely to his sister. "At least not a proper one."

Severus glanced sideways at Mrs. Granger. A pretty blush was creeping up her cheeks. It had spread down as well; disappearing under a gauze fichu she had wrapped about her neck and tucked into her elegant bodice.

She caught his gaze, her eyes wide and hazel and a little sad. The sight of those eyes, even more than the tender skin at her throat, caused him a sudden and altogether unwelcome jolt of desire. Severus pushed back from the table and surged to his feet. "I'll give the cook—and you, Mrs. Granger—a week in which to prove yourselves. One week. If I'm not convinced of the usefulness of cooks and housekeepers by then, you'll all go. Understand?"

The housekeeper nodded, and for a moment he felt a tiny twinge of guilt when he saw her stricken look. Then his mouth twisted at his own idiocy. "If you'll excuse me, madam, I have work to do. Come, Lady Cissa." He slapped his thigh and the dog got slowly to her feet. He strode from the kitchen without a backward glance.

Damnable woman!

Coming to his castle and questioning and demanding and taking his time when all he wanted was to be left alone. He took the tower stairs two at a time and then had to pause and wait for Lady Cissa. She was climbing the stairs slowly and stiffly as if her legs pained her. The sight made him even angrier. Why? Why did everything have to change? Was it too much to ask to be left to write his books in peace?

He sighed and climbed back down the stairs to Lady Cissa. "Come on, lass." He bent and gently scooped her against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat under his hands and the trembling in her legs. She was heavy, but Severus held the big dog in his arms as he ascended the tower stairs. Once in the tower, he knelt and set her in her favorite place on the rug before the fire.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," he whispered as he stroked her ears. "You're a brave lass, you are, and if you need a bit of help up the stairs, well, I'm glad to oblige." Lady Cissa licked his beard and laid her head on the rug.

Severus stood and walked to the tower window that overlooked the back of the castle grounds. There was an old garden there, terraced in steps that led down to a stream. Beyond, rolling gold and green hills met the horizon.

Vegetation overgrew the garden, falling down the buttressing walls and crowding the paths. It hadn't been tended in years. Not since he'd left for the Colonies. He'd been born and raised in this castle. He didn't remember his mother, who had died giving birth to a stillborn baby girl when he wasn't quite three. His mother's death might've infused the castle with gloom, but though she'd been well-loved, it hadn't.

He'd grown up running wild over the hills, fishing with his father in the stream and arguing history and philosophy with Lily, his older sister. Severus smiled wryly. Lily had usually won the arguments, not only because she was the older by five years, but also because she was the better scholar.

Back then, he'd thought that eventually he, too, would marry. He'd bring his bride or groom to the castle and raise another generation of Snape-Prince's, just like all his ancestors. But that hadn't happened. He'd been betrothed at three and twenty to a handsome man named James, but he'd died shortly after an animagus transformation gone horribly wrong before they could wed.

Grief had kept him from forming another alliance for years, and then somehow his studies had taken precedence. He'd traveled to the Colonies when he was eight and twenty and had stayed there three years before returning, a prematurely aged one and thirty. And after he'd returned from the Colonies . . .

He traced the eye patch on his cheek as he gazed out at his countryside. It'd been too late by then, hadn't it? He'd lost not only his eyes, but also his soul.

What remained was not fit for a civilized company, and he knew it. He stayed far from other people to protect himself and, perhaps more importantly, to protect them. He'd seen sorrow, smelled death's rotting breath, and knew that savagery lurked close beneath the thin veil of magical society. His very face reminded others that the basic animal was very near. That it might pounce on them as well.

He'd been resigned, content if not boisterously joyful. He had his studies; he had the hills and his stream. He had Lady Cissa to keep him company. And then she arrived.

He didn't need an officious, too-beautiful housekeeper to barge into his home and life. He didn't need her changing his retreat. He didn't need this sudden desire that hardened his muscles and made his skin itch with irritation.

She would be appalled—revolted—if she knew what she did to him physically. Severus turned from the window in disgust. Soon enough, she'd tire of playing housekeeper and find some other place to hide from whatever—or whoever—she was running from. In the meantime, he would make sure she didn't keep him from his work.

* * *

**e/n: I kept the whole James x Snae affair woefully short. Does it still satisfy? Thoughts?**


	6. Chapter 6

**a/n un-beta'd.**

* * *

**_RECAP: She would be appalled—revolted—if she knew what she did to him physically. Severus turned from the window in disgust. Soon enough, she'd tire of playing housekeeper and find some other place to hide from whatever—or whoever—she was running from. In the meantime, he would make sure she didn't keep him from his work._**

"It's been over a fortnight," Draco Malfoy, the Duke of Malfoy, said in an even, controlled voice. "I ordered you to hire the best men in London. Why can't they find one paid-whore traveling with two bastards?" He swung round on the last syllable and pinned, his longtime secretary, with a cold stare.

They were in Malfoy's study, an elegant room newly redecorated in black, and hunter green. It was a room appropriate for a duke and the fifth richest man in England. At the far end, Vernon sat in a chair before Draco's spacious desk.

Vernon was a painfully average man, his form grotesquely bulbous, with the face of an angry fat baby. He had an open notebook on his knee and a quill with which to record notes in one shaking hand. "I admit it is very distressing, Your Grace, and I do apologize," Vernon said in his whispery voice. He thumbed through his notebook as if to find the answer for his own incompetence there.

"But we must remember that Ms. Potter has no doubt chosen to disguise herself and the children. And, after all, England is a very large place."

"I'm well aware of how large England is, Vernon. I want results, not excuses."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"My resources—my men, money, contacts—should have found her by now."

Dudley gave several quick jiggly bobs of his head.

"Naturally, Your Grace. Of course, we have been able to trace her as far as the road north." Malfy made one sharp cutting motion with his hand.

"That was nearly a week ago. She may have laid a false trail, gone west to Wales or Cornwall, or for all we know, caught a ship for the Colonies. No. This is simply unacceptable. If the men we have on her now can't find her, then hire new ones. Immediately."

"Quite, Your Grace." Dudley licked his lips nervously. "I shall see that it is done at once. Now, as to the duchess's trip to Bath…" Vernon droned on about Pansy Malfoy's travel plans, but the duke hardly listened.

He'd been the Duke of Malfoy since the age of seven; his title was centuries old. He sat in the House of Lords and owned vast estates, mines, and ships. Gentlemen of all ranks respected and feared him. And yet one woman—the daughter of a once-popular quack, no less!—thought she could simply leave him, and what was more, take his bastard offspring with her.

Poppycock!

The entire thing was simply unacceptable. Malfoy strolled to the tall windows of his study, which were draped in black silk. He'd have her found, have her and his children brought back, and then he would impress upon her how very, very stupid it was to cross him. No one crossed him and lived to gloat about it.

**_No one._**

* * *

Mrs. Rosemerta, the new cook, was a tall dour woman who hardly spoke, Hermione reflected the next afternoon. The woman had once cooked for a great house in Edinburgh, but she hadn't liked the rush and noise of the city and had retired to Hogsmeade where her husband was the baker.

Privately, Hermione wondered if Mrs. Rosemerta hadn't become bored with the slow life of Hogsmeade and her husband's bakery, for she certainly accepted the job as cook quickly enough.

"I hope the kitchen meets with your approval," she said now, twisting her apron in her hands.

The cook was nearly the height of a man, and her face was wide and flat. She was expressionless, but her large reddened hands moved lightly and swiftly as she rolled out pastry on the kitchen table.

"Hearth needs sweeping."

"Ah, yes." Hermione looked nervously at the giant fireplace. She'd been up at the crack of dawn, scrubbing the kitchen as best she could in preparation for the cook, but she hadn't had time to clean the fireplace. Her back ached terribly now, and her hands were raw from the hot water and harsh lye soap.

"I'll have one of the maids do it, shall I?"

expertly flipped the pastry into a pie plate and began trimming the edges.

Hermione swallowed. "Well, I have other matters to attend to. I'll return in an hour or so to see how

you're getting on, shall I?"

Hermione nodded, just to give the appearance that she knew what she was doing, and went into the

hallway. There she took out a small notebook and a tiny pencil. They'd been the first items she'd bought in Hogsmeade yesterday. Opening the notebook, she flipped to the third page and wrote, clean hearth. This notation was at the bottom of what was becoming a rather long list that included among other things air library, clear ivy from windows in the sitting room, polish hall floor, and find the good silverware.

Hermione put away the notebook and pencil, smoothed her hair, and continued on her way to the dining room. This, she'd decided, would be the first room to be completely set to rights in the castle.

That way, Sir Beastly could enjoy a properly cooked dinner tonight and, more importantly, realize how very useful it was to have a housekeeper.

She hadn't actually seen the master of the castle all morning. When she'd brought his breakfast to the tower room, he'd yelled through the door to leave it outside. She very much hoped he wasn't going to sulk in his tower and then throw them all out of the castle in a fit of ill-temper tonight. All the more important to have the dining room at least cleaned.

But when Hermione rounded the corner into the dining room, the sight that met her eyes was pure chaos. One of the maids was shrieking and covering her head with her apron. The other maid brandished a broom as she chased a bird about the room. Hugo and Scorpius were helping the maid with the broom, and the two footmen—young lads from the village—were doubled over with laughter.

For a moment, Hermione gaped in horror. _Why?_

Why must every single thing be so hard? Then she shook herself. Aching back, difficult servants, filthy castle, it simply didn't matter. She was the one in charge here. If she couldn't bring order to this scene, no one else would do it. And if she couldn't bring order, then Sir Severus would dismiss her and the children in the coming week. It was as simple as that. She hurried to the windows that lined the far wall of the dining room. They were made of ancient diamond-paned glass, and most were immovable, but she found one with a catch and shoved it open.

"Chase it over here," she called to the maid with the broom.

The girl, a sturdy redhead who obviously had a level head on her shoulders, obediently did so, and several frantic minutes later, the bird found freedom. Hermione slammed the window shut and latched it.

"Now, then." She turned to her troops and took a breath. "What happened?"

"It came out of the chimney!" Hugo exclaimed. He was so excited his curly hair resembled a bird's nest, and he was quite red in the face. "Nellie was sweeping it"—he pointed to the maid now removing her apron from her face—" and the bird fell down with a heap of soot."

A large mound of soot and what looked like an ancient bird's nest lay on the hearth.

"Gave me ever such a turn, mum," Nellie concurred.

"And then you stood there and yelled like a banshee while it flew about the room." The redheaded girl had the broom over one shoulder like a musket and her other hand on her hip.

"Oh, will ye now be holdin' it over me, Susan Bones, that ye know how to chase a bird with a broom?" Nellie shot back.

The maids started arguing, while the footmen guffawed.

Hermione felt a headache begin to pound at her temple. "Enough!"

The cacophony of voices silenced and all eyes turned toward her.

"You"—Hermione pointed at the tallest footman—"go to the kitchen and sweep out the fireplace."

"But that's a lass's job," the boy objected.

"Well, you're doing it today," Hermione said. "And mind it's well swept and scrubbed."

"Aw," the tall footman groaned, but he went from the room.

Hermione turned to the remaining servants. "Susan, come help me polish the dining table. You two"— she gestured to the other maid and the shorter footman—"finish cleaning that chimney. We have to get it clear if we're to have a fire in here tonight without setting the room ablaze." They worked all through the afternoon, cleaning, sweeping, polishing, and even taking the rugs and curtains out to beat them in the wind. By six o'clock, the dining room was as neat as a pin and a fire roared in the fireplace, though it did still smoke a little.

Hermione looked about, one hand massaging the ache at the small of her back. What a tremendous chore! She'd never take a housemaid's work for granted again. At the same time, she couldn't help a pleased smile spreading over her face. She'd set her mind to it, and she'd done it! Hermione thanked the maids and the two rather worn footmen and sent them off to the kitchen for a well-deserved cup of tea.

"What shall we do now, Mummy?" Scorpius asked. The children had been wonderful workers all afternoon. Even Hugo had helped polish the windows. Hermione smiled at them. "Now we go wash up so that we can properly greet Sir Severus when he comes down for his supper."

"And we'll eat in the dining room with him!" Hugo exclaimed.

Hermione felt a pang. "No, dear, we'll have a lovely supper in the kitchen."

"But why?" Hugo asked.

"Because Mummy's the housekeeper, and it's not proper for us to eat with Sir Severus," Scorpius

said. "We're servants now. We eat in the kitchen." Hermione nodded. "That's right. But the meat pie will taste just as good in the kitchen, don't you think? Now, let's tidy up, shall we?" But forty-five minutes later, when Hermione and the children again came down the stairs, Sir Severus was nowhere to be found.

"I think he's still in his tower," Scorpius said, frowning at the ceiling overhead as if she could see

the master of the castle four floors above. "Perhaps he sleeps up there, too."

Both Hermione and Hugo glanced instinctively up at the ceiling.

Mrs. Rosemerta had said that she planned supper for seven o'clock. If Sir Beastly didn't appear soon, his supper would be cold, and,

more importantly, he might offend the only qualified cook for miles and miles.

That decided it.

Hermione turned to the children. "Darlings, why don't you go to the kitchen and see if one of the maids can make you tea?"

Scorpius looked at her. "But what will you do, Mummy?"

Hermione straightened her fresh apron. "Fetch Sir Severus from his den."

**E/N: Short-ish chapter. Next up, another face-off against Severus and Hermione! What do you guys think of the introduced characters?**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Not BETA'D. She's been busy. Grammarly and I did our best though!**

**Hey, lovelies! Since I received such great reviews I'm uploading another chapter a bit early than I previously planned. I hope that's okay!**

**notice the use of magic is mentioned more here. In my head magic levels the playing field between men and women. Although some aspects of magic are still characterized as purely feminine or more masculine. For example, some spells that would be considered "cosmetics" aren't widely known by the male population since the period hasn't shifted into the great divide between the humans and the magical. Sev would know some because his character goes against the norm. Obviously.**

* * *

**_Recap: Scorpius looked at her. "But what will you do, Mummy?" Hermione straightened her fresh apron. "Fetch Sir Severus from his den."_**

THE KNOCK ON the tower door came just as Severus lit the candles. The light was fading, and he was trying to record his observations on badgers. This was for his next great work: a comprehensive listing of the flora and fauna of Scotland, England, and Wales.

It was a huge undertaking, one that he felt without vanity would place him in the ranks of the great Master Researcher of his age. And today he'd been able to write for the first time in weeks—months if he was honest with himself. He'd eagerly begun the work over three years ago, but for the last year or more, his work had slowed and faltered. He'd been beset by a sort of lethargy that made writing extremely difficult.

Indeed, for the last few weeks, he'd made barely any progress at all.

Today, however, he'd risen knowing exactly what to put down in his manuscript. It was as if a breath of reviving wind had been blown into his lungs by some unseen god. He'd spent the day in intense writing and sketching, accomplishing more than he had in months.

So when the knock interrupted his labors, he was not pleased.

"What?" he growled at the door. It was bolted so a certain female couldn't just swan in at will.

"Your supper is ready," she called back.

"Bring it here, then," he replied absently. Sketching a badger's nose could be quite difficult.

There was a short silence, and he thought for a moment that she'd gone away. Then she rattled the doorknob. "Sir Severus, your supper is laid upon the table downstairs in the dining room."

"Nonsense," he shot back. "I've seen my dining room. It hasn't been used in near a decade, and it's filthy. It's not fit for man or beast to eat in."

"I've spent all this day cleaning it."

That gave him pause, and he stared suspiciously at the tower door. Had she spent the day scrubbing out his dining room? It'd be a Herculean task if so. For a moment, he felt a flicker of guilt. Then he regained his good sense.

"If what you say is true, Mrs. Granger, and I have a newly cleaned dining room, I thank you. I'm sure at some point I may even use it. But not tonight. Go away."

The silence this time stretched for so long that he was convinced she'd gone away. He'd returned to sketching the badger and was working on the difficult bit around the eyes when a great _**thump!** _shook the door. Severus's hand jerked and the quill tore through the parchment.

He scowled at the ruined sketch before waving his hand and fixing the tear.

"Sir Severus." Mrs. Granger's voice came through the door, sounding very much as if she might be gritting her teeth. "Either you come out at once and eat the delicious supper that Mrs. Rosemerta spent all day cooking in the dining room that I and the other servants spent all day cleaning, or I shall

break down this door." The soft hum of magic reinforced her threat.

Severus raised his eyebrows.

"I have scrubbed and polished, beaten, and swept all the day long," Mrs. Granger continued. He set his quill down, rose from his chair, and approached the door.

"And I think it only common courtesy to—" she was saying as he opened the door. She stopped mouth agape and looked up at him.

Severus smiled and leaned a shoulder against the door frame. "Good evening, Mrs. Granger."

She started to back up a step but then caught herself, although her wide hazel eyes were wary.

"Good evening, Sir Severus."

He loomed over her to see if she would flee. "I understand you have supper waiting downstairs for me."

She clutched her hands but stood firm. "Yes."

"Then I shall be pleased to dine with you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You can't dine with me. I'm your housekeeper."

He shrugged and slapped his thigh for Lady Cissa. "I dined with you yesterday."

"But that was in the kitchen!"

"It's proper for me to eat with you in my kitchen but not in my dining room? Your logic escapes me, Mrs. Granger."

"I don't think—"

Lady Cissa passed them and started down the stairs. Severus gestured for the housekeeper to precede him. "And I expect your children to dine with us as well."

"Scorpius and Hugo?" she asked as if she might have other offspring about the place.

"Yes."

She was below him on the stairs, but she shot a look over her shoulder that clearly stated that she thought he'd gone mad. And perhaps he had. Children never dined with adults, at least not in his level of society.

His beautiful housekeeper was still protesting when they made the hall outside the dining room, although Severus was fairly sure she'd given up the idea of dining in the kitchen by then. Her objections were merely stubbornness now.

He nodded to the children when he saw them hovering in the hall. "Shall we go in?"

Hugo readily ran into the dining room, but Scorpius frowned and glanced to her mother for

guidance.

Mrs. Granger pursed her lips, looking uncommonly disapproving for such a lovely woman. "We're

to eat with Sir Severus tonight. But this will be the only time."

Severus took her arm firmly, leading her into the dining room. "On the contrary, I expect you and the children to dine with me every night that you stay in Castle S.E."

"Huzzah!" yelled the boy. He had already found a place at the table.

"You can't!" hissed Mrs. Granger.

"It is my castle, madam. Allow me to remind you that I do here as I please."

"But the other servants will think… will think…"

He looked down at her. Her sun spun eyes were wide and pleading, and perhaps he should've taken pity on her.

But he didn't.

"They'll think what?"

"That I am your mistress."

Her lips were pink and parted, her hair wild and curling, the skin of her neck and breast so white and pure it might've been made from the wings of doves.

The irony was enough to kill him.

His mouth twisted. "Madam, I care not what others think, about me or anyone else. I should've thought that was obvious by now. You may either leave my castle this very night, or you may stay and dine with me tonight and every evening henceforth. It's your choice alone."

Severus pulled out her chair with a thump and watched to see if worry for her reputation would finally drive her away.

She inhaled, her sweet bosom swelling above the square-cut neckline of her dress. She'd left off the fichu tonight, and he damned the loss. Yards of creamy skin seemed to be revealed in the fichu's absence. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, pounding to that most earthly part of him.

"I'll stay." She lowered herself to the chair he held.

He gently pushed it in for her and bowed over her mahogany head. "I am filled with joy."

* * *

BEASTLY, BEASTLY MAN!

Hermione glowered from beneath her brows as she watched Sir Severus around the table and sit at his place. He didn't worry about society or the consequences of flaunting it, and as a result, he'd put her in an untenable position purely on a whim it seemed!

She inhaled and beckoned to Peter, the taller of the two footmen. He'd been standing in the corner snickering at their byplay all this while. "Fetch dishes and silverware for myself and the children," she ordered. Peter hurried out of the room.

"Mrs. Rosemerta's made meat pie," Hugo confided to Sir Severus. "Indeed?" Sir Beastly replied to her son as gravely as if he spoke with a bishop. Hermione frowned at the polished table in front of her. Draco had never been interested in anything Hugo or Scorpius had ever said.

"Yes, and it smells _won-der-ful_." Hugo drew the last word out to emphasize the ambrosia that awaited them. Despite working all afternoon, Hugo was bouncing with energy. Hermione couldn't help but smile at him, though she worried whether his exhaustion was merely waiting for bedtime. There had been several times on the ride north when Hugo had fallen apart with tiredness at the end of the day. It made putting him to bed rather wearying.

Nursemaids, too, were something she'd never take for granted again.

Sir Severus sat at the head of the rectangular table as was proper. Scorpius was to his right, Hugo to his left, and Hermione was at the foot, blessedly as far away from the master of the castle as she could be. Hugo's face barely cleared the table. If they were to do this every night, Hermione would have to find something he could sit on to make him higher.

"Mummy said we weren't to eat with you." Scorpius's silver eyes were shadowed by worry. "Ah, but this is my castle, and I set the rules within it," Sir Severus replied. "And I wish for you, your brother, and your lovely mother to dine with me. Is that to your liking?"

Scorpius knit her brow in thought before answering. "Yes. I like eating in the dining room. We polished the table and beat the carpet today. You wouldn't believe the cloud of dust that came out of it. Nellie, the maid, coughed so hard I thought she'd choke."

"And there was a bird in the chimney!" Hugo said.

Sir Severus looked toward the fireplace. It was surrounded by an old carved stone with a painted wood mantel. "What color was the bird?"

"It was black, but its belly was pale and it was ever so fast," Hugo replied. Sir Severus nodded as Peter returned with more plates and silverware. "Probably a swallow. They nest in chimneys sometimes."

Susan and Nellie bustled in carrying trays of food. Susan cast quick curious glances as she handled the food while Nellie gaped at Sir Severus's scarred face until Hermione caught her eye and frowned. Then Nellie ducked her head and went about her work. Besides the meat pie, there were new peas, carrots, fresh bread, and stewed fruit.

For a minute, there was silence as the maids retreated. Sir Severus looked at the table. The dishes of food steamed, and the glasses sparkled in the candlelight. He raised his glass of wine and nodded at her. "I commend you, madam. You've set a feast out of thin air and managed to clean this dining room as well. I would think it impossible if the result were not here before my eyes."

Hermione found herself smiling foolishly. For some reason, his words warmed her far more than the practiced flowery rhetoric she'd once received in London ballrooms. He watched her over the rim of his glass as he drank, and she didn't know where to look.

"Why?" Hugo asked.

Sir Severus's gaze was diverted to her son, and Hermione took a deep breath, wishing she could fan herself. "Why what?" the castle's master asked.

"Why do swallows sometimes nest in chimneys?" Hugo asked. "That's a silly question," Scorpius stated. "Ah, but no question is silly to a naturalist," Sir Severus said, and for a moment Scorpius looked crushed.

Hermione opened her mouth to defend her child. Then Sir Severus smiled at Scorpius. It was only a quirk at the corner of his mouth, but the child relaxed and Hermione closed her mouth. "Why should a swallow nest in a chimney?" Sir Severus asked. "Why there and not somewhere else?"

"She wants to escape the cat?" Scorpius guessed.

"She's warmed by the fire," Hugo said.

"But there hadn't been a fire in that chimney in ages," Scorpius objected.

"Then I don't know why." Hugo gave up the question and forked up a piece of meat pie instead. But Scorpius still frowned. "Why should a swallow nest in the chimney? It seems a silly thing to do —and dirty."

"Your idea that the swallow wants to bring up its young where the cat can't get them is a good one," Sir Severus said. "Perhaps also the swallow nests where no other bird is nesting." Scorpius stared hard at Sir Severus.

"I don't understand."

"Birds—and animals—must eat and drink just like us. They must have space to live and grow. But if another bird, particularly one of its kind, is nearby, that bird might wish to fight it. The bird guards its manor."

"But some birds like to live together," Scorpius said. Her brows were drawn together stubbornly. "Sparrows are always together in a flock, pecking at the ground."

"Always?" Sir Severus buttered a piece of bread.

"Do they nest together as well?" Scorpius hesitated. "I don't know. I've never seen a sparrow's nest."

"Never?"

Sir Severus darted a look at Hermione, his brows slightly raised. She shrugged. They'd always lived in London. The birds of the city must nest somewhere, but she didn't recall seeing them. "Ah. Then I shall have to show you some nests."

"Coo!" Hugo exclaimed—regrettably with his mouth full. Sir Severus tilted his head toward the boy, his fake eye gleaming. "Sparrows have solitary nests, but you are quite correct, lass. Some birds and animals do congregate together and even raise their young in a group. For instance, I am writing my findings on badgers at the moment, and they like to live all together in a mass of burrows called a sett."

"Can you show us a badger, too?" Hugo asked.

"They're quite shy," Sir Severus said as he cut into his slice of meat pie.

"But I can show you a sett nearby if you like." Hugo's mouth was full of peas, but he nodded enthusiastically to show he'd like a trip to a badger sett.

"Is that what you do up in your tower?" Hermione asked. "Write about badgers?" He looked at her.

"Yes, among other things. I'm writing a book about the animals, birds, and flowers of Scotland and England. I'm a naturalist. Didn't Lady Riddle tell you before she sent you to me?" Hermione shook her head, avoiding his gaze.

The truth was, there hadn't been much time for Lady Riddleto tell her anything. When Hermione had gone to Ginevra, she'd been fleeing Draco and had feared she was being followed. Ginevra had suggested Sir Severus because he lived in Scotland—far away from London—and Hermione had jumped at the idea. She'd been desperate.

"Have you written many books?" She felt foolish that she hadn't thought about what he might be doing up in his cluttered study. "Only one." He sipped his wine, watching her. "A Brief Survey of the Flora and Fauna of New England."

" I've heard of that." She looked up at him in surprise. "It's all the rage in London. Why I saw two fashionable ladies nearly come to blows over the last copy in a bookseller. It's considered de rigueur for a complete library. You wrote that book?"

He inclined his head ironically.

"I confess it." Hermione felt strange. The book in question was very elegant, a portfolio-sized volume filled with full-page hand-colored illustrations. She would never have dreamed in a thousand years that Sir Severus could write something so beautiful.

"Did you illustrate the book as well?" "In a way—the engravings are based upon my sketches," he said.

"It's lovely," she said truthfully. He raised his glass but didn't comment, his eye watching her.

"I want to see the book," Hugo said.

Scorpius had stopped eating. She didn't echo Hugo's plea, but it was quite obvious she was curious as well. Sir Severus inclined his head. "I suppose there must be a copy about somewhere in the library. Shall we go see?"

"Huzzah!" yelled Hugo again, this time, fortunately, having swallowed the food in his mouth. Sir Severus looked across the table at Hermione, cocking the eyebrow over his eye patch at her. It looked very much like a challenge.

* * *

**E/N: A point of clarification. This story is AU. Magic rules are bendable hence the eye confusion. Magic is barely mentioned because I don't know a lot. So for this story, Scotland hasn't gone into complete hiding yet and magic is used semi liberally.**

**Sev was born with both his eyes. **

**He lost them both during the war (details set to be served as breadcrumbs in the coming chapters). **

**He still retains sight through dark magic which will be explained later. Magic isn't a big component here. Sorry to disappoint but I don't have enough of the HP world building knowledge to incorporate the use of everyday magic.**

**Also, I really wanna make Scorpius resemble/act like Malfoy more since she is his spitting image while Hugo looks exactly like Hermione. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Not BETA'D. She's been busy, I assume. **

**Character death!**

**Another Clarification, I imagine Scorpius as 'a good little pureblood princess' even if she is the bastard offspring of a Duke. She's Malfoy's daughter. Of course, she has flaws. She's judgemental and cares too much about what others think. No character is perfect and I'm looking forward to trying my hand at character development.**

**Also! Is anyone willing to take the time and explain how the bloody hell cloaks work? Are they like bathrobes? Do wizard folk wear clothes underneath them? The vague descriptions are on purpose because of my lack of knowledge!**

* * *

Recap: Sir Severus looked across the table at Hermione, cocking the eyebrow over his eye patch at her. It looked very much like a challenge.

Severus ROSE FROM his newly polished dining room table and walked around it to help Mrs. Granger from her chair. She stared up at him, suspicious at his courtesy, so he held out his arm just to flummox her. She laid her fingertips on his sleeve as if touching a hot pot.

"We don't wish to take your time. I know you're busy." He cocked his head to better see her. She wasn't getting away that easily.

"Alas, I have no pressing matters at the moment, ma'am. Take a candle." She didn't reply but merely nodded, though a small frown played about her mouth. She picked up one of the candles from a sideboard. Severus led her toward the library, the children trailing behind.

He was conscious of her fingers so lightly pressed against his arm and of her warmth as she walked beside him. Women, especially beautiful ones, didn't often venture so near to him. He could smell the soap she'd used to wash her hair—a light lilac scent.

"Here we are," he said as they made the library door. He opened the door and went in. Mrs. Granger immediately separated herself from him, not surprisingly really, but he felt the loss. Maudlin idiocy, that. He should be used by now to women running from him. He didn't comment but took her candle and began lighting the ones in the room.

This had been his father's library and his grandfather's before him. Unlike many great house libraries, this one was used and the books read and reread. It was a rectangular room on an outside wall with some of the largest windows in the castle. The windows were hidden behind long, dusty curtains that hadn't been drawn for years. All except the one curtain that had fallen, letting in Lady Cissa's afternoon ray of sunlight.

The remaining walls were covered, floor to ceiling, with bookshelves, each crammed to overflowing with volumes. At one end of the library was a small fireplace. Two decrepit chairs and a small table sat before it. He finished lighting the candles and turned back. The children and Mrs. Granger were still clustered by the door. A corner of his mouth kicked up.

"Come in. I know it isn't as beautifully clean as the dining room now is, but I don't think you'll come to actual harm." Mrs. Granger muttered something under her breath and frowned at one of the chairs by the fireplace.

The chair was lopsided; it had a broken leg and was propped up by two books. Scorpius was running her finger along a bookshelf and inspecting the dust collected on her fingertip. But Hugo ran to a globe of the world and peered at it.

"I can't see England." The globe was nearly obscured by dust.

"Ah." Sir Severus took out his handkerchief and wiped off the globe.

"There. Now England's revealed, and so is Scotland. Here we are." He pointed to the area north of the Firth of Forth. Hugo squinted at the globe and then looked up.

"Where's your book?" Severus glanced about the library, frowning. He hadn't needed to look at his writing in quite some time. "Over here, I think." He led the way to a corner in which several oversized volumes were piled on the floor.

"These ought to be put on a shelf," Mrs. Granger muttered. "I can't believe you keep your book on the floor," Severus grunted before rummaging in the pile with Hugo. "Ah, here it is." He laid the book out on the floor and opened it. Hugo promptly threw himself down on his stomach to peer closely at the pages, and Scorpius sat by his side to look.

"You must have spent many years in New England." Mrs. Granger was standing behind her children, looking at the book over their shoulders. "Mind the pages when you turn them, Hugo." Severus strolled to her side.

"Three years." She looked up at him, her hazel eyes startlingly bright in the candlelit room. "What?"

"Three years." He cleared his throat. "I spent three years in New England recording the information in that book."

"That's a very long time. Did not the war interfere with your work?"

"On the contrary. I was attached to regiments in His Majesty's army the entire time."

"But wasn't that dangerous?" Her brows were drawn together in concern. For him.

He looked away. Her eyes were too beautiful for this dingy room, and he regretted the impulse to bring her and the children in here. Why lay himself open like this, let them see into his life, his past? This was a mistake.

"Sir Severus?" He didn't know what to say. Yes, it'd been dangerous—so dangerous that he'd left behind eyes, two fingers, most of his humanity, and his pride in the woods of North America—but he couldn't tell her that.

She was merely making conversation. He was saved from having to reply by Hugo looking up suddenly from the book.

"Where's Lady Cissa?" The deerhound hadn't followed them into the library. Severus shrugged. "Probably fell asleep by the fire in the dining room."

"But she'll miss us," Hugo said. "I'll go get her." And he hopped up before anyone could say a word and scurried from the room. "Hugo!" Scorpius called. "Hugo, don't run!" And she was off as well.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Granger said. He frowned at her in surprise. "What for?"

"They can be so impetuous." Severus shrugged. He wasn't used to children, but these were rather interesting to have about.

"I—" she began, but she was interrupted by a single shrill scream. Severus was out the door without waiting for Mrs. Granger. He ran down the hallway.

The scream wasn't repeated, but he was sure it'd come from the dining room. Perhaps Scorpius had seen a spider. But when he rounded the dining-room door, he knew it was something else entirely.

Lady Cissa lay by the fireplace as he'd predicted, but Hugo knelt over her, frantically patting her side, and Scorpius stood still and pale with her hands pressed to her mouth.

No.

He slowly walked to the fireplace, Mrs. Granger trailing behind. Scorpius simply stared at him, silent tears running down her face. But Hugo looked up as he neared. "She's hurt! Lady Cissa is hurt. You must help her."

Severus knelt by the old dog and placed his palm on her side. She was already growing cold. It must've happened as she slept, while they ate supper, as he'd shown Mrs. Granger his library, completely oblivious. He had to clear his throat. "There's nothing I can do."

"Yes!" the boy cried. His face was red, tears glittering in his eyes. "Yes! You must!"

"Hugo," Mrs. Granger murmured. She tried to grasp her son's arm, but he wrenched it from her grasp and threw himself on the dog.

Scorpius ran from the room. Severus placed a hand lightly on the boy's head. It quivered under his palm as the child sobbed.

Lady Cissa had been a gift from Lily, many, many years ago before he'd left for the Colonies. He hadn't taken her with him; she had been a young dog back then, and he feared that the long sea voyage would prove too cramped for her. But when he'd returned home, broken, his life no longer what he'd thought it would be, Lady Cissa had been here.

She'd galloped down the drive to greet him, had stood with her paws upon his shoulders as he'd rubbed her ears, and she'd grinned, tongue lolling. She'd walked by his side when he'd wandered the heath, lay by the fireside as he'd written his book. Come to nuzzle his hand when he'd woken in the dark of night, drenched in sweat from hideous dreams. Severus swallowed with difficulty.

"Good dog," he whispered huskily. "That's a good lass." He stroked her side, feeling the rough, cooling fur. "Help her!" Hugo reared up and hit at the hand that had touched his head. "Help her!"

"I cannot," Severus said, choking. "She's dead."

* * *

She'd made a ghastly mistake.

Hermione stroked Hugo's sweaty head that night and berated herself. Hugo had cried himself to sleep, desolate over Lady Cissa's death. On the other side of the bed, Scorpius was silent. She hadn't made a sound since that single shrill scream in the dining room. Now she lay on her side, facing away from Hugo, her body a slight lump under the covers.

Hermione closed her eyes. What had she done to her darlings? She'd taken her children from the safety of their home in London, from all they knew, all that was familiar to them, and brought them to this strange, dark place where sweet old dogs died.

Perhaps she'd been wrong. Perhaps she could've endured Draco and the hopeless, imprisoned life she'd led as his forgotten mistress, if only for the sake of her children.

But no.

She'd known these last years that it was only a matter of time before she offended him in some way and she would wake up to find the children gone. If nothing else, that had been the primary driving reason to leave the duke: she could not live without Scorpius and Hugo.

She opened her eyes and got up, drifting to the dark windows. The view was less than comforting, though. The ivy on the outside walls so overgrew the windows that the moon was but a glittering speck. There was a small table under the window that she'd made into a desk to transcribe Lady Riddle's fairy-tale book. She touched the papers there. She really ought to work on it some more, but she was too restless tonight.

She glanced back at the children. Hugo was in exhausted slumber, and Scorpius hadn't moved. Just in case she was still awake, Hermione rounded the bed and bent over her daughter.

She touched her shoulder lightly—not enough to wake her if she slept—and whispered, "I'm going for a walk, darling. I'll return before too long." Scorpius's closed eyelids didn't move, but nonetheless, Hermione suspected she wasn't asleep.

She sighed and kissed her daughter's cheek before leaving the room and shutting the door carefully behind her.

The corridor was dim, of course, and she really had no notion of where she could go. The castle didn't lend itself to a meditative stroll. Still, she was restless and had to move somehow.

Hermione wandered down the hall, her single candle casting flickering light against the walls. The castle had five main floors. The bedroom she shared with the children was on the third, along with several rooms that once must've been quite nice bedrooms and sitting rooms.

Hermione trailed her fingers idly along with the carved paneling of the hall. She'd have to have the maids dust and polish the old wood eventually, but this floor was low on her list of things to be put to rights. She stopped suddenly and shuddered.

She was making plans—future plans—for the castle when she might not even be here tomorrow. She had no doubt that Draco had men searching for her and the children at this very moment. The knowledge made her skin prickle in fear, made her want to flee at once.

But she'd attended shooting parties in the country and knew what happened to the bird that flew when the beaters came close.

They were shot from the sky. No. Better to keep her nerve and stay here at this hiding place she'd found. She shivered and started down a staircase at the end of the hall.

The treads were even and strong, but they were bare. Did Sir Severus have the funds for a proper carpet? Perhaps she could hang a painting or two on the landing. She'd found quite a cache of paintings just today.

They were all leaning on their sides and covered with a cloth in one of the closed rooms on the second floor. The stair led to the back of the castle, quite near the kitchens.

She hesitated when she made the ground floor. The light was coming from the kitchen. It couldn't be any of the new servants.

The maids and footmen made the journey to and from the village daily. Mrs. Rosemerta would eventually live in, but she'd taken one look at the cook's quarters and stated that they'd need to be cleaned before she could move in.

The light in the kitchen meant that either Sir Severus was having a late snack or Mr. Filch was lurking there. Hermione shivered. She hadn't the fortitude to take on the nasty little man at the moment. That decided, she turned to the front of the castle.

The dining room was dark as she passed it, and for a moment she wondered what Sir Severus had done with the big dog's body. She'd left the castle's master there in the dining room when she'd gone to take care of Hugo and Scorpius.

When she'd last glimpsed him, he'd been crouching silently over the dog. His eyes had been dry, but every bone in his body had projected grief. Hermione looked away from the dining room.

She didn't want to feel sympathy for Sir Severus. He was a disagreeable man who'd gone out of his way to make it plain he didn't want her here.

She'd like to think that he didn't care for anyone or anything. But that'd been clearly disproved, hadn't it? He might wear the mask of an unfeeling ogre, but underneath he was a man. A man who could be hurt.

She was at the front of the castle now, by those great doors where first they'd entered. She had to set down the candle to pull back the heavy bolt and wrench the door open. Sir Severus had performed these jobs without any sign of strain. Obviously, he had some muscles under that tattered old cloak he habitually wore.

An image of the master of the castle without any clothing at all suddenly sprang up in her too-fertile mind, and Hermione halted, startled, and oddly warmed. Good Lord!

Had she truly become a wanton? Because imagining Sir Severus nude only aroused her curiosity: Did the man have hair on his chest? Was his belly as flat as it looked? And while she was standing here in the darkness, she might as well think it—was his manhood long or short? Thick or narrow?

A wanton, indeed.

Hermione inhaled, shaking the crude thoughts away, and set her candle on the stone step of the castle. The moon was high enough to see a little in the dark as her eyes adjusted. The group of trees by the drive rustled softly in the wind, their tops waving against the night sky.

Hermione shivered. She should've brought a wrap. There was a kind of path that led around the side of the castle, and Hermione began picking her way. She rounded the back of the castle, and the moon shone, full and fat, on the hills in the distance. Its light was as nearly bright as day, and as she tore her eyes from it, Hermione belatedly saw that she wasn't alone.

A tall male figure was silhouetted against the sky, like an ancient monolith, grim and still and lonely. He might've stood thus for centuries. "Mrs. Granger," Sir Severus rasped as she started to turn away. "Have you come to torment me even in the night?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione murmured. She could feel a flush start on her cheeks, and she was grateful for the dark, not only to hide her blush but also to keep him from seeing the expression on her face. Her wayward imagination conjured up that same hazy picture of him nude. Oh, dear! "I didn't mean to intrude." She turned to go back around the castle, but his voice halted her.

"Stop." She peered at him. He still faced the hills, but he'd turned his head toward her. He cleared his throat. "Stay and talk with me, Mrs. Granger."

It was an order, spoken in commanding tones, but Hermione thought perhaps there was a hint of a plea underneath the gravel in his voice, and that decided her. She wandered closer to where he stood.

"What would you like to talk about?" He shrugged, his face averted again. "Don't women always have something to babble about?"

"You mean fashion and gossip and other terribly unimportant things?" she asked sweetly. He hesitated, perhaps thrown off balance by the iron underlying her tone. "I'm sorry."

She blinked, sure she had misheard him. "What?" He shrugged. "I'm not used to the company of civilized people, Mrs. Granger. Please forgive me."

It was her turn to feel uncomfortable. The man was obviously grieving the death of his loyal companion; it was unkind of her to snap at him. In fact, considering she'd made her living for the last fourteen years by catering to the needs of a man, it was rather out of character for her.

Hermione pushed that strange thought aside and wandered a little closer to Sir Severus, trying to think of a neutral topic of conversation.

"I thought the meat pie at dinner was quite good." "Yes." He cleared his throat. "I noticed that the boy ate two slices."

"Hugo."

"Hmm?"

"His name is Hugo," she said, but without any censor. "Quite. Hugo, then." He shifted a little.

"How is Hugo?" She looked blindly at her feet. "He cried himself to sleep."

"Ah." Hermione stared out at the moonlit landscape.

"And the girl?" He coughed uncomfortably. "Scorpius is pretending to sleep. Shes badly shaken I think." Hermione murmured quietly. She paused before switching subjects."What a wilderness this is."

"It wasn't always." His voice was low, the gravel making it rumble in a sort of comforting way. He chose not to comment on the lass's odd name. "There used to be gardens that led to the stream." "What happened to them?" "The gardener died and another was never hired."

She frowned. The ruined terrace gardens were silvered in the moonlight, but she could see that it was terribly overgrown. "When did the gardener die?" He tilted his head back, gazing at the stars. "Seventeen… no, eighteen years ago?" She stared. "And you've never hired a gardener since then?"

"There seemed no need." They stood in silence then. A cloud drifted across the moon. She wondered suddenly how many nights he had stood thus, alone and lonely, looking out over the ruin of his garden.

"Do you…" He tilted his head. "Yes?"

"Forgive me." She was glad the darkness masked her expression. "You've never married?" "No." He hesitated, and then said gruffly, "I was engaged, but he died." She hummed.

"I'm sorry." He made a movement, perhaps a halfhearted shrug. He hardly needed her sympathy. But she couldn't leave it alone. "No family, either?"

"I have an older sister who lives in Edinburgh." "But that's not too far away. You must see her often." She thought wistfully of her own family. She hadn't seen any of them—her brothers, sister, mother, or Papa—since she'd gone to Draco. What a price she'd paid for her romantic dreams.

"I haven't seen Lily in years," he replied, interrupting her thoughts. She looked at his dark profile, trying to make out his expression. "You're estranged?"

"Nothing so formal." His voice had grown cold. "I simply don't choose to travel much, Mrs. Granger, and my sister sees no reason to visit me."

"Oh." He pivoted slowly, facing her. His back was to the moon, and she couldn't see his expression at all. He seemed suddenly taller, looming over her more closely—and more ominously—than she'd realized. "You're very curious about me tonight, Mrs. Granger. But I think I'd rather discuss you" he growled.

* * *

**E/N: It felt right to end it here. I didn't wanna get to sexual since Lady Cissa did just pass. I had to get rid of her though. She was Sev's well-loved crutch and he needs to make room for new changes. I hope you guys enjoyed a longer chapter.**

**ALSO off-topic but related sorta, does anyone wanna be my beta for any of my Twilight works? I seriously need help. Writing for HP fandom is easier for me. Twilight..not so much. I have great ideas for story plots but the writing doesn't match the idea and it comes out terribly.**


	9. A Lonely Siren

**A/N: HI!**

**Generally, I like to keep my notices short. I'd just like to quickly add-in that I'm thinking of making this into a short little trilogy. As I have briefly mentioned before Sev has 'friends' or Brothers of Arms **

**(BOA) really. Remember how Hermione got here? Ginevra **_**Riddle**_ **suggested it to her. Would anyone be interested in her story? **

**Honestly, after it was revealed that Ginny had the first Horcrux I always thought her attraction to Harry was because of the darkness attached to his soul. I had this whole hypothesis that she had developed an addiction to the dark arts. She was hella young to have been exposed. So, anyway, thoughts?**

**Lastly, thank you _Duj_ for explaining the wizarding wear to me. **

**_Recap: "You're very curious about me tonight, Mrs. Granger. But I think I'd rather discuss you" he growled._**

THE MOONLIGHT CARESSED her face, highlighting a beauty that needed no additional ornamentation. But her loveliness didn't distract him anymore. He saw it, admired it, but he could also see past the surface camouflage to the woman beneath. A vivacious woman who, he suspected, was not used to labor yet had spent the day cleaning his filthy dining room. A woman not used to fending for herself but who had still managed to push her way into his home and his life.

Interesting. What motivated her?

What life had she left behind? Who was the man she was hiding from? Severus watched Mrs. Granger, trying to see the expression in her sun-spun eyes, but the night shielded them from him.

"What do you want to know about me?" she asked.

Her voice was even, almost masculine in its directness, and the contrast to her extremely feminine form was surprising. Fascinating, actually.

He cocked his head, considering her. "You've said that you're widowed."

Her chin lifted. "Yes, of course."

"For how long?"

She looked away, hesitating for a fraction of a second. "Three years this fall."

He nodded. She was very good, but she was lying. Did the husband still live? Or did she run from

another man? "And what did Mr. Granger do?"

"He was a doctor."

"But not a successful one, I take it."

"Why do you say that?"

"If he'd been successful," he pointed out, "you wouldn't have to work now."

She lifted a hand to her forehead. "Forgive me, but the topic distresses me."

No doubt he was supposed to feel pity for her at this point and give up the chase, but he had her cornered, and his curiosity urged him on. Her distress only made him more eager. He stepped closer, so close that his chest nearly touched her shoulder. His nose caught the scent of lilacs from her mahogany mane.

"You were fond of your husband?"

Her hand fell and she glared up at him, her tone tart. "I loved him desperately."

His mouth curved in a smile that wasn't very nice. "A tragedy, then, his death."

"Yes, it was."

"You were married young?"

"Only eighteen." Her eyes dropped.

"And the marriage was happy."

"Extremely happy." Her voice was defiant, the lie transparent.

"What did he look like?"

"I…" She wrapped her arms around herself. "Please, might we change the subject?"

"Certainly," he drawled. "Where did you live in London?"

"I've told you." Her voice was steadier now. "I was in Lady Riddle's household."

"Of course," he murmured. "My mistake. I keep forgetting your vast experience in running a

household."

"It's not vast," she whispered. "You know that."

For a moment, they were silent and only the wind whistling around the corner of the castle gave

voice.

Then she said very quietly, with her face still turned away, "It's just that I… I need a place to stay

right now."

And something inside him surged in triumph. He had her. She couldn't leave. It made no sense, this feeling of triumph. He'd been urging her to go ever since she'd arrived, but somehow the knowledge that she had to stay, and that as an honorable gentleman he had to let her stay, filled him with

contentment.

Not that he let it show. "I confess, Mrs. Granger, that I am surprised by one thing."

"What is that?"

He bent closer, his mouth nearly brushing her lemon-scented hair. "I would've thought a lady of your beauty would be besieged by suitors."

She turned her head, and their faces were suddenly only inches apart. He felt her breath brush across his lips as she spoke. "You find me beautiful."

Her voice was curiously flat.

He cocked his head, eyeing the smooth brow, the lush mouth, and the fine wide eyes.

"Devastatingly so."

"And you probably think beauty sufficient reason to marry a woman." Her tone was bitter now.

What had the mysterious Mr. Granger done to his wife? "No doubt most men do."

"They never think of a woman's disposition," she muttered. "Her likes and dislikes, her fears and

hopes, her very soul."

"Don't they?"

"No." Her beautiful eyes had grown dark and tragic. The wind blew tossing her messy dark main of curls into the wind.

"Poor Mrs. Granger," he mocked softly. He gave in to impulse and raised his left hand—his

unmaimed hand—and stroked the lock of hair back away from her face. Her skin was as fine as silk.

"How terrible to be so lovely."

A frown creased her unblemished brow. "You said most men."

"Did I?" He let his hand drop.

She looked up at him, her eyes were quite perceptive now. "Don't you consider beauty to be the

most important criteria in a wife?"

"Ah, but you've forgotten my aspect, I'm afraid. It's in the natural order of things that a lovely wife will either stray or come to hate an ugly husband. A man as revolting as I would be an idiot to attach himself to a beautiful woman." He smiled into her mesmerizingly lovely eyes. "And I am many things, Mrs. Granger, but an idiot is not one of them."

He bowed and turned to stride back into the castle, leaving Mrs. Granger, a lonely, desperately

tempting siren, behind him.

* * *

"WHEN WILL WE go home?" Hugo asked the next afternoon. He picked up a rock and threw it. The rock didn't go very far, but Scorpius frowned, anyway.

"Don't do that."

"Why not?" Hugo whined. "Because you might hit someone. Or something." Hugo looked about the old stable yard, empty except for themselves and a few sparrows. "Who?"

"I don't know!" Scorpius wanted to throw a rock herself, but ladies didn't do such things. And besides, they were supposed to be beating an old rug. Mummy'd made one of the footmen put up a line across a corner of the yard, and a row of rugs now hung from it, all waiting to be beaten.

Scorpius's arms were sore, but she took a swing at the rug anyway with the broom she held. It felt good to hit the rug. A great cloud of dust flew out. Hugo squatted to pick up another rock.

"I want to go home."

"You've already said that over and over again," Scorpius said irritably.

"But I do." He stood and threw the rock. It hit the stable's wall and clattered onto the gray stones that paved the stable yard.

"We never had to beat rugs at our old house. And Miss Cummings took us to the park sometimes. There's nothing to do here but work."

"Well, we can't go home," Scorpius shot back. "And I told you—"

"Oy!" The voice came from behind them. Scorpius looked over her shoulder, still holding the broom. Mr. Filch was trundling toward them, his greying brown locks waving in the breeze as his thin arms waved in the air.

"Watcha doin', throwin' rocks about like that? Are you soft in the head?" Scorpius straightened. "He's not soft—" Mr. Filch snorted like a surprised horse. "If'n throwin' rocks about that could hit anybody, includin' me, isn't soft in th' head, I don't know what is."

"You don't talk that way!" Hugo said. He'd stood and his hands were balled by his sides. "Don't tawk whot?" Mr. Filch mimicked their accent. "Whot're yew, a soft-headed London ponce?"

"My father's a duke!" Hugo shouted, red-faced. Scorpius froze, horrified. But Mr. Filch merely threw back his head and laughed. "A duke, eh? Then what does that make you? A dukeling? Ha! Well, dukeling or not, don't throw them stones."

And he walked off, still chuckling. She waited, holding her breath until he was out of sight; then she swung on her brother, whispering furiously, "Hugo! You know we weren't to say anything about the duke."

"He called me a ponce." Hugo's face was still red. "And the duke is our father."

"But Mummy said we mustn't let anyone know that."

"I hate it here!" Hugo put his head down like a bull and ran out of the stable yard. Or at least he started to. At the corner of the castle, he stumbled headlong into Sir Severus coming the other way.

"Whoa, there." Sir Severus caught Hugo easily in both hands. "Let me go!"

"Certainly." Sir Severus raised his hands and Hugo was free. But having gained his freedom, he didn't seem to know what to do next. He stood in front of the castle's master, his head bowed, his lower lip protruding.

Sir Severus watched him for a moment, and then looked at Scorpius with one eyebrow raised. His hair was wild, tumbling about his shoulders and several strands sticking to his face, his scars shone dully in the sunlight, and his jaw was still stubbled, but he wasn't nearly as terrifying as Mr. Filch.

Scorpius shifted from one foot to the other, still holding the broom. "We were beating the rugs." She gestured weakly to the line of rugs behind her. "So I see." Sir Severus looked back at Hugo. "I was going to the stable to fetch a shovel."

"What for?" Hugo grunted. "I'm going to bury Lady Cissa." Hugo hunched his shoulders and kicked at the cobblestones. Everyone was silent a moment.

Until Scorpius licked her lips and said, "I-I'm sorry." Sir Severus looked at her from his one eye, and his expression wasn't friendly at all, but Scorpius gathered all her courage and blurted it out before she let her fear and embarrassment freeze her.

"I'm sorry about Lady Cissa and I'm sorry that I screamed."

He blinked. "What?"

She took a deep breath. "The first night when we came. I'm sorry I screamed at you. It wasn't very nice of me."

"Oh. Well… thank you." He glanced away then and cleared his throat, and there was another silence.

"May we help you?" Scorpius asked.

"Bury Lady Cissa, I mean." Sir Severus frowned, his brows drawn together over his eye patch. "Are you sure you want to?"

"Yes," Scorpius said. Hugo nodded. Sir Severus looked at them a moment and then nodded. "Very well, then. Wait here."

He went into the stables and then came back out with a shovel. "Come on." He set off toward the back of the castle without another glance toward them. Scorpius put down her broom, and she and Hugo trailed him. She darted a look at Hugo. He had tears at the corners of his eyes. He'd cried for quite a long time the night before, and the sound had made her chest hurt.

She frowned and watched the path. It was rocky and bumpy; Sir Severus was leading them down through the old garden toward the stream. It was stupid because they hadn't known Lady Cissa all that long, but Scorpius felt like crying, too. She didn't even know why she'd asked to come along to help bury the dog.

Below the garden was a bit of a grassy meadow. Sir Severus tramped through it and as they neared the stream, Scorpius could hear the rush of water. Farther up, there were some rocks in the stream, and the water boiled about them, frothing white. But below the garden, the water had calmed, pooling in the shade of some trees. At the base of one was a lump bundled in an old rug. Scorpius looked away, feeling her throat ache. But Hugo went right up to the bundle.

"Is this her?"

Sir Severus nodded.

"It seems silly to waste a good rug," Scorpius muttered. Sir Severus looked at her out of his one dark eye. "She liked to lie on that rug before the fire in my tower." Scorpius glanced away, feeling ashamed. "Oh."

Hugo squatted and stroked the faded rug as if it were the fur of the dog beneath. Sir Severus set his spade and began digging beneath the tree. Scorpius wandered closer to the stream. The water was clear and cool. A few leaves floated lazily on the surface. She knelt carefully and looked at the rocks at the bottom. They seemed quite close, yet she knew they were a yard or more away. Behind her, Hugo asked, "Why're you burying her here?" She could hear the sound of the spade scraping against the earth.

"She liked to ramble with me. I'd come here to fish, and she'd take a nap under that tree. She liked it here." "Good," Hugo said. Then there was only the sound of Sir Severus digging. Scorpius leaned over the pool and trailed her fingers in the water. It was shockingly cool. Behind her, the digging stopped, and she could hear the rug sliding. Sir Severus grunted.

She put her face closer to the pool, watching a water weed waving below. If she were a mermaid, she'd sit on those rocks far below and tend a garden of water weeds. The stream would flow all about her, and she wouldn't be able to hear a thing from the world above.

She'd be safe. Happy. A fish flashed silver among the rocks and she straightened. When she turned around, Sir Severus was smoothing a mound of earth over Lady Cissa's grave. Hugo had a tiny white flower he'd plucked from the meadow, and he laid it on the grave. Her brother turned to her, holding out another flower.

"Do you want one, Star ?" And she didn't know why, but her chest suddenly felt as if it would burst from within her. She'd die if that happened. So she turned and ran back up the hill to the castle, as fast as she could, with the wind against her face until it blew all the thoughts from her mind; leaving behind an explosion of flowers in her wake.

**E/N: And there you have it. Our first real glimpse of accidental magic from Scorpius herself. She's not old enough to attend Hogwarts yet. I did a little research and nothing too big seemed to be happening in the 1760s for wizarding folks. I'll be sure to include some 'outside their love nest' world events so that we get a feel for the time period they're in.**

**In case there are any new HP babies on here, Scorpius' name is after the star. Hugo calls her "star " cause I couldn't think of a nickname that didn't end up even more unfortunate than her name.**

**Lastly another point of clarification. Hermione spent YEARS being a companion/prostituting to Draco. Of course, she would think of Severus in a sexual way. Even if she's doesn't necessarily like the man. Besides, I don't see anything wrong with a woman thinking of a man that way. It may come across as a little odd but she was a mistress for years. Her job was to cater to Malfoys lusts.**


	10. Merely A Whim

**a/n: A beautiful soul kindly pointed out that Scorpius's name is a constellation, not a star. For the sake of keeping things simple Scorpius's nickname will stay as 'star' since I think 'constellation' is way too long of a nickname for Hugo to pronounce.**

* * *

**Recap:** _**So she turned and ran back up the hill to the castle, as fast as she could, with the wind against her face until it blew all the thoughts from her mind; leaving behind an explosion of flowers in her wake. **_

IN THE EARLY years, when she'd still been naive and in love, Hermione had sat up many nights waiting in case Draco should deign to visit her. And many nights she'd finally given up her vigil to retire alone and lonely. She was past those nights of waiting now—years past them. So it was particularly aggravating that she found herself that evening at midnight pacing the dim library in her chemise and wrap and waiting for Sir Severus's return.

Where was the man?

He hadn't appeared for supper, and when she'd made the climb to his tower, she'd found it deserted. In the end, after waiting until the roast duck was completely cold, she'd had to eat without him, just her and the children in the now-clean dining room.

When she'd questioned the children over the cold duck and congealed sauce, Hugo had told her about burying the dog earlier in the afternoon. Scorpius had merely pushed her peas about her plate and then asked to be excused early, saying she had a migraine. Her daughter was too young to have migraines, but Hermione had taken pity on the girl and let her retire in peace. That was another concern entirely—Scorpius and her secretive, sad little face. Hermione wished she knew what she could do to help her daughter. Her likeliness to Draco was disconcerting, and she struggled to connect to her as a mother-daughter relationship should.

She'd spent the rest of the evening consulting with about meals and refurbishing the kitchen. Then she'd made Hugo take a bath by the kitchen fire, which had resulted in a puddle that needed mopping up before she'd put him to bed. The entire time she'd done these chores, she'd kept

an ear half-cocked, listening for Sir Severus's return.

All she'd heard for her troubles was Mr. Filch stumbling to the stables drunk as a lord. Sometime after that, it'd begun raining. Where was he? And more to the point, why did she care?

Hermione halted by the pile of books where his great album of birds and animals and flowers of America still lay. She set her candle on a long table against the wall, bent, and hauled the big tome to the table's surface. A small cloud of dust stirred and she sneezed. Then she moved the candle close enough to illuminate the pages without dripping wax on them and opened the book.

The frontispiece was an elaborate hand-colored illustration of a classical arch. Through the arch, a lush forest, blue sky, and a pool of clear water could be seen. To one side of the arch stood a beautiful woman in fanciful robes, obviously an allegory.

She held out her hand, inviting the viewer to enter the arch. On the other side of the arch was a man in sturdy breeches, a rich, long black robe, and on his head was a floppy hat. He had a pack over one shoulder and carried a magnifying glass in one hand and a wooden staff in the other. Beneath the picture was the caption,

THE NEW WORLD WELCOMES HER MAJESTY'S BOTANIST Severus Snape Prince TO DISCOVER HER

WONDERS.

Was the little man supposed to be Sir Severus? Hermione peered closer. If so, it didn't look a thing like him. The illustration had a cupid's bow mouth and plump pink cheeks and looked rather like a woman in man's clothing. She wrinkled her nose and turned the page.

Here was the title page, which read in elaborate script 'A BRIEF SURVEY OF THE FLORA AND FAUNA OF NEW ENGLAND' By Severus Snape-Prince.

On the next page were the words,

_**The Dedication**_

_**To Her Majesty**_

_**Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz**_

_**By the Grace of God**_

_**QUEEN OF GREAT BRITAIN,**_

_**If it pleases her**_

_**I dedicate this book and my work.**_

_**your humble servant,**_

_**Severus Snape-Prince**_

_**1762**_

She traced the letters.

It must have indeed pleased the Queen, for she remembered hearing that the author had been knighted soon after the publication of this book. Hermione turned several pages more and then stopped, inhaling sharply. When they'd looked at this book yesterday evening, she'd not paid it too much attention. The children's eager heads had obscured the pages as she stood above. But _now._

Before she was a full-page illustration of a flower with long curving petals on a bare branch. The blooms were extravagant and multiple, clustered together, and they were exquisitely hand-colored a sort of lavender-pink. Beneath the flower was a branch with a flower dissected to show the different parts. Beside that was a branch with leaves opening. On one leaf lay a gaudy black and yellow

butterfly, each leg and antenna drew in meticulous detail.

How could he be so surly, so uncivilized and yet be the artist who'd drawn the original pictures for this book? She shook her head and turned another page.

The library was quiet, save for the sound of rain pelting against the windows. The lush illustrations drew her in, and she stood for what might've been minutes or hours, mesmerized by the illustrations and words, turning the pages slowly.

Hermione didn't know what broke the spell—certainly not a sound, because the falling rain masked all sounds from without—but she looked up after a while and frowned. The candle had burned down to a sullen nub, and she picked it up carefully before going to the library door. The hall was deserted and dark, the rain drumming against the great front doors. There was no reason at all for what she did next.

She set the candle on a table and wrenched at the doors. For a moment, they stubbornly held, and then they gave, groaning reluctantly. The rain immediately blew in, soaking her nearly from head to toe. Hermione gasped at the cold shock and peered into the darkness of the drive.

Nothing moved.

What a silly fool she was! She'd gotten soaked for nothing. Hermione began to push the doors closed again when she saw it: a long shadow emerging from the trees beside the drive. A man on horseback.

She felt overwhelming relief, and then the sight drove her mad.

She half stumbled down the step, her hair immediately flattened to her skull by the rain, and screamed all her hours of worry at him.

"What are you doing? Do you think I scrub and dust and plan a meal all day long just so you can cavalierly miss it? Don't you know that the children waited for you? Hugo was disappointed in your absence. And the duck was cold—quite, quite cold. I don't know if I shall be able to apologize to Mrs. Rosemerta enough, and she the only cook for miles!"

He was leaning a bit over the horse, his hat gone, and the shoulders of his old robes were shining with wet. He must be entirely soaked through. He turned a deathly white face at her, and a corner of his mouth curved mockingly.

"Your welcome home is most gracious, Mrs. Granger."

She caught the horse's bridle and stood blinking in the rain. "We made a deal, you and I. I would sit with you at your dining table and you—you!—would appear at the evening meal. How dare you make a pact with me and then break it? How dare you take me for granted?"

His eyes closed for a moment, and she saw the lines of weariness incised into his face. "I must apologize yet again, Mrs Granger."

She scowled. He looked ill. How long had he been riding in this downpour? "But where have you been? What was so important that you must go gallivanting off in this storm?"

"A whim," he sighed, his eyes closing. "A whim merely."

And he fell from the horse.

Hermione screamed. Fortunately, the horse was well trained and didn't start and trample him. He'd fallen to his back, and as she bent over his still form, something stirred under his coat. A small black nose and then a whimpering little head poked from the wet folds of material.

Sir Severus sheltered a puppy under his coat.

* * *

**Who knew Sevie has a heart after all! **

**As we all know, oaths/promises are taken seriously in the wizarding world. I'm assuming because the pact was made informally there was no magic involved-well that we know of.**

**I purposely choose not to have them use simple spells. The wizards in Harry's lifetime seem lazy to me. A spot of work to build up to the era of a lazy flick of the wand seems right to me. **

**In most stories I find they center around Severus's ability to make potions and artistic brewing capabilities. While this is all fine and dandy, I've decided to focus on his cover in the muggle world. His profession as a Botanist is perfect considering it rembles some aspects of his wizarding profession.**

**Previously I said the two communities haven't quite divided completely so things are fairly 'hazy'.**

**Just know that Queen Charlotte, previous to her marriage and coronation in 1761 Princess Sophia Charlotte, is apart of the wizarding world while her husband George isn't.**

**Did anyone peep that Queen Charlotte was the first black/biracial Queen of England? Just a small tribute to tribute to our crazy society today. I think we can all agree that the HP world needs more diversity. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

Recap: Sir Severus sheltered a puppy under his coat.

"Mr. Filch!" Hermione screamed into the blowing rain. "Mr. Filch, come help me!"

"Hush," Sir Severus moaned, having apparently recovered from his faint. "If Filch isn't fast

asleep, he's dead drunk. Or both."

She scowled at him. He was lying in a puddle, the puppy huddled against his chest, both man and beast shivering with cold. "I need help to get you inside."

"No"—he heaved himself to a sitting position—"you don't."

She took his arm and pulled hard, trying to help him up. "Stubborn man."

"Stubborn woman," he muttered back. "Don't hurt the pup. I paid a shilling for him."

"And nearly died bringing the beast home," she panted.

He lurched to his feet, and she wrapped her arms about his chilly chest to steady him. The position put her head under his arm, her cheek against his side. He laid a heavy arm over her shoulders. "You are a lunatic."

"Is this any way for a housekeeper to talk to her master?" His teeth were chattering, but he balanced the puppy in the crook of his other arm.

"You may dismiss me in the morning," she snapped as she helped him awkwardly up the step. For all his sarcasm, he leaned heavily on her, and she could feel the ragged heave of his chest against her cheek. He was a big, stubborn man, but he must've been riding in the rain for hours.

"You forget, Mrs. Granger, that I've tried and failed to dismiss you since the night you arrived at my door. Watch it." He'd fallen against the doorframe, pulling her off balance.

"If you'd just follow my lead," she gasped.

"What a very bossy woman you are," he mused as he staggered through the doorway. "I can't think how I managed without you."

"Neither can I." She propped him against the wall and shoved the door shut. The pup whimpered.

"It'll serve you right if you catch a cold."

"Oh, how dulcet is the feminine tone," he murmured. "So soft, so gentle, even enough to rouse the protective urge in any man."

She snorted and led him toward the stairs. They were leaving a trail of water that would have to be cleaned on the morrow. Despite his sardonic words, he was pale and shivering violently, and she truly was afraid he'd catch a deathly chill. She'd seen strong men laid low by fever before when helping her father on his rounds. They'd be laughing and alive one week and dead within days.

"Watch the step," she said. He was tall enough, heavy enough, that if he started to fall, she wasn't altogether sure she could keep him from tumbling down the stairs.

He merely grunted, and that worried her more—did he no longer have the strength to argue with her? Her mind leaped ahead as she helped him slowly up the stairs. She'd have to get hot water, perhaps make tea. Mrs. Rosemerta had left a kettle near the banked kitchen fire last night—perhaps she had again tonight. She'd get him to his room and then run down for the kettle.

But he was shuddering in waves by the time they made the hallway outside his room. The puppy was in danger of being flung from his arm.

"You may leave me here," he grunted when they reached his door.

She ignored him and pushed the door open. "You're an idiot."

"Several imminent scientists in Edinburgh and the continent would beg to differ."

"I doubt they've seen you half-dead and clutching a wet puppy."

"True."

He staggered toward the bed. His room was huge. A bed with massive posters squatted between heavily draped windows, the coverlet trailing on the floor. On one wall was a large ancient fireplace, made of the same emerald stone as the rest of the castle. For a moment, Hermione wondered if this room had been used continuously by the master of the castle since it was built.

Then she shoved the thought from her mind. "Not the bed. You'll get it wet."

She guided him toward the fireplace. A single enormous chair sat before the cold hearth. Sir Severus sank into it, shuddering, while she bent and stirred the fire. A feeble ember still glowed there.

Carefully she heaped coals upon it and blew until the fire caught, unconscious of the tiny sparks that appeared from her breath as she blew.

Rainwater ran down her face from her hair and dripped to the floor. She shivered, but she wasn't nearly as cold as he.

She stood and faced Sir Severus. "Take off those clothes."

"Why, Mrs. Granger, such daring." His words were slightly slurred as if he'd been drinking, though she had detected no alcohol on his breath. "I had no idea you had designs upon my person."

"Humph." She picked up the shivering puppy and placed it near the fire, where it sat in a forlorn wet heap. She'd worry about the pup later. At the moment, its master took precedence.

Hermione stood and started peeling the soaking robe from Sir Severus 's shoulders. He leaned forward to help her, but his movements were clumsy. She flung the wet robe on the hearth, where it began to steam. Then she knelt before him and worked the buttons through the soaking fabric of his waistcoat.

She could feel him watching her, his eye heavy-lidded, and her heartbeat could not help but speed up. When she started on the buttons of his thin shirt, she was conscious that her breath was coming harder. She concentrated, staring at the white translucent material plastered to the hard planes of his chest.

Crisp black hair fell in a wet curtain around her. She could feel his hot breath on the top of her head. This position was too intimate.

She determinedly drew off his shirt before she could stop and think about it, but she still faltered when his nude torso was revealed. His body was ever so much lovelier than her imaginings. The wide strong slopes of his shoulders led to surprisingly thick muscles on his arms, and his chest was broad and covered with dark curling hair on the upper part.

Brown-red nipples peaked through the hair, hard and pointed and shockingly bare. His taut belly had only a fine line of dark hair that circled his navel before widening below and then disappearing into the waistband of his breeches. She'd stretched out one hand toward that seductive line of hair before she'd even realized her own movement.

Hermione snatched back her wayward hand, hid it in her skirts, and said briskly, "Stand up so we can get the rest of these clothes off you. You're nearly blue with cold."

"Mrs. Granger, your regard alone is enough to heat m-me," he drawled as he stood. The rakish words were only marred by the chattering of his teeth.

"Humph."

She knew that her entire face was enveloped in a fiery blush, but she still needed to get those wet breeches off him. She began on the buttons, waving his fumbling hands away when he tried to help her. He swayed as she got the last button undone, and suddenly she was no longer worried about her flush or what he might think of her.

"Get to the bed," she ordered.

"Bossy woman," he muttered, but his words were slurred again, and he shuffled toward the massive bed.

Once there, she had him lean against the mattress as she stripped his boots, breeches, hose, and smallclothes from him. She had only a glimpse of long hairy legs and a dark patch of fur at their apex before she was shoving him into the bed and heaping the covers on top of him.

She expected some sardonic comment from him then—perhaps along the lines of her hurry to get him into bed—but he merely closed his eyes. And that forbearance shot a bolt of pure fear through her. She stopped only to scoop the puppy up and plop him beneath the covers next to the man, and then she was running to the kitchen.

Thank God!

Mrs. Rosemerta had indeed left a kettle warming by the banked kitchen fire. Hermione quickly made tea and took the pot, a cup, and plenty of sugar along with an ancient metal bed warming pan back up to Sir Severus's bedroom.

When she entered, panting from the quick climb up the stairs, his body was a still mound beneath the covers, and her heart gave a painful jolt.

But then he stirred. "I was beginning to wonder if the sight of my naked body had caused you to flee the castle."

She snorted as she laid her full tray on a table beside the bed. "I'm the mother of a small boy. I've seen a naked male body many times, I assure you. I bathed Hugo just tonight."

He grunted. "I'd hope that my form would be somewhat different than a boy's."

She cleared her throat to say primly, "There are some differences, of course, but the similarities are still there."

"Humph." She knew he watched her as she took the warming pan to the fire and scooped in glowing coals. "Then undressing me gave you no more worry than bathing wee Hugo."

"Naturally not," she said with what she thought was admirable aplomb.

"Liar," he rasped softly.

She ignored that and brought the hot pan back to the bed. "Can you move over?"

He nodded, his face weary and lined. He managed to inch over on the mattress, and she threw back the covers to use the warming pan on the sheets. She tried hard, but it was impossible not to see the long line of his bared leg, hip, and side. Heat unfurled in her belly. Hastily, she averted her eyes.

When she finished, he rolled back and grunted his eye closing. "Feels good."

"Good." She set the pan on the hearth and hurried back. "Try and sit up so you can make some tea."

His eye opened, surprisingly sharp, and focused on her bosom. "You're soaked through, Mrs. Granger. You need to attend to yourself."

She glanced down and saw that her chemise and wrap were nearly transparent. Her pointed nipples were outlined quite clearly against the thin fabric. Goodness! But modesty hardly mattered at the moment. "I'll attend to myself as soon as you're settled. Now sit up."

"I shall repay you for your officiousness later," he warned, but he heaved himself against the pillow until he was half upright.

"You do that," she replied as she heaped sugar into the cup and then poured steaming tea in it.

"I don't think sugar will help your tea, Mrs. Granger," he drawled behind her.

"Oh, hush." She turned and caught his gaze focused on her bottom. "It's hot and sweet and filled with some herbs to rejuvenate you on the morrow. That's what you need now. Drink."

She held the cup for him and he sipped, wincing. "Your tea could take the rust off an iron. Do you mean to kill me?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to do," she murmured soothingly. A small corner of her heart seemed to tug at his gruff words. He was so stubborn, so surly, and at the moment he needed her so much. "Take some more."

He sipped from the cup again, his gaze all the while on her face, steady and disconcerting. Her fingers trembled as she watched his strong throat work. She hastily took the cup away and set it on the tray.

"Thank you, Mrs. Granger," he said. His eye was closed, and he'd sunk into the bed, but there was color in his face again. "I think I shall survive the night without you."

She frowned. "Perhaps I should heat a brick or bring more tea."

"God, please no more tea. You may retire for the night. Unless"—he opened his dark eye and glanced at her sardonically—"you'd like to join me?"

Her eyes widened involuntarily at the blunt invitation, and for a crucial moment, she didn't know what to say or do. Then she whirled and left the room, his laughter echoing behind her as she fled to her own bedroom.

* * *

**e/n:**

**It's after midnight! **

**schools starting up again (not that I ever took a break really) and covids still feasting greedily among us. Heavens help us all. **

**As discussed I will be dropping the first chapter to Ginny, Harry, and Tom's story sometime later this week. **

**Thank you faithful followers of BAB!**


	12. Tease

**a/n: I am horrible at keeping promises on here. Just keep an eye out for the second trilogy to this with Ginny x Tom x Harry**

**slight warning...covid influenced this chapter. XD**

* * *

PERHAPS IT WAS the memory of his housekeeper's lush breasts outlined in wet fabric the night before. Perhaps it was the lilac scent of her hair that seemed to linger like a ghostly presence in his rooms. Or perhaps it was a simple biological need catching up with him. In any case, Severus woke the next morning with the vision of her lush, red lips wrapped about his achingly hard prick. An overly vivid erotic dream, but alas, his flesh did not know the difference between reality and fantasy.

Severus groaned and threw back the covers. His head, and indeed his entire body, ached most horribly, but still his cock was proudly erect. He contemplated that clayish part of himself. What an irony that even the most intelligent man could be reduced to this throbbing base need solely because of plump lips and a round white bosom. His prick bobbed at the vivid image of Mrs. Granger. Proud. Argumentative.

Entirely naked.

He swallowed and touched himself, running his fingers up hot flesh made iron, surrounding the aching head in his fist. His foreskin was already pulled back by the swelling of his cock, and his seed gleamed between his fingers. His imaginary Mrs. Granger knelt before him and cradled her own white breasts in her hands. She lifted them, offering them, at once wanton and shy, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He squeezed the head of his cock, feeling the shaft of pleasure shoot to his balls. Her breasts were big and bonny, overflowing her little hands. She took her pink nipples between thumb and forefinger and pinched them hard, giving him a wicked look. He groaned and fisted down, pulling gently. If she pushed those soft mounds together if he leaned forward and thrust his cock between her sweet, hot breasts . . .

Beside him came a small canine whimper. He instinctively jerked and grabbed for the covers. "Shit!"

Then he remembered and let his body flop back on the pillows. He looked down. The puppy cringed against the bedding, half-buried in the

sheets that had covered him.

"It's all right, laddie," Severus said. "It's not your fault I'm a daft man."

Nor was it the puppy's fault that he still remained erect and aching.

But then he'd woken many a morning in this state. And since he'd

returned from the Colonies, he'd had naught but his own hand to satisfy his

animal desires. Once, several years ago, he'd reached a point of such

frustration that he'd journeyed into a wretched section of Edinburgh. There

he'd sought out the services of a woman paid to relieve men of their erotic

urges. But when the whore he'd settled on saw his face in the candlelight of

her rented room, she'd asked for a higher price. He'd left, humiliated and

disgusted with himself, the whore shouting curses behind him. He'd never

repeated that awful experience. Instead, he'd settled for his own hand

whenever base lust overcame his reason.

The puppy bumbled out from the covers at the sound of his voice, its rear end wiggling in delight. It was a brown and white spaniel with floppy ears and a speckled nose. The puppy had come from a litter belonging to a farmer living just beyond Hogsmead. Saddling Salazar and riding out in search of a puppy yesterday had been a whim. The sight of Hugo scattering petals on Lady Cissa's grave had stayed in his mind, nagging him for hours yesterday. Even more disturbing was Scorpius running so determinedly away from the burial. That display of accidental magic was stunning for a lass so delicate looking. Poor lass, so stiff and unlikable. Not sweet and biddable as a normal girl should be. Something about the little lass reeked...priggish. He snorted softly. In a way, she reminded him of himself.

The puppy stretched on too-large paws, his round belly nearly touching

the bed, and yawned. No doubt he would need to relieve his bladder soon

and, being a baby, wouldn't care where he did it.

"Hold on, laddie," Severus muttered.

He rose, joints creaking and began dressing, but he'd only managed

smallclothes before his door suddenly opened. For the second time that

morning, he grabbed for the sheets. The puppy spun and yelled at the

intruder.

Severus sighed, biting back a curse, and looked into startled hazel eyes. "Good morning, Mrs. Granger. Had you thought to knock before you entered?"

Those beautiful eyes blinked and she frowned. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Attempting to find my breeches, if you must know." He propped a fist on his hip, thanking providence that he still wore his eye patch from the night before. "If you'll leave me in privacy, I can greet you more fully attired."

"Humph." Instead of leaving, she bustled past him and set her tray on the table next to his bed. "You need to get back in bed."

"What I need," he rasped, very aware that his cock had sprung back to life at her entrance, "is to dress and take the puppy out."

"I've brought you some warm milk and bread," she replied blithely, and

then stood in front of him, arms folded, as if she actually expected him to

eat her strange concoction.

He regarded the bowl on his bedside table. It was half full of milk.

Soggy bits of bread floated on top, a thoroughly revolting mess.

"I've begun to wonder, Mrs. Granger," he said as he dropped the sheets

and reached for the puppy, "if you've decided on a deliberate campaign to

drive me mad."

"What—?"

"Your insistence on disturbing my work, hiring servants I do not need,

and in general, disrupting my life cannot be all accident."

"I didn't—!"

He set the puppy in front of the bowl as she sputtered. The puppy stuck its face and one paw in the bowl and began to eat, spilling milk and bread lumps on the table. Severus looked at his housekeeper.

Who'd found her voice. "I never—"

"And then there's the problem of your attire."

She looked down at herself. "What's wrong with my attire?"

"This dress"—he flicked the lace at her bosom, brushing against warm, soft breasts as he did so—"is too fashionable for a housekeeper. Yet you persist in swanning about my castle in it, in an attempt to distract me."

Her cheeks reddened, making her hazel eyes sparkling with indignation. "I have only two sets of dress robes if you must know. It isn't my fault that you find them objectionable." She crossed her arms lifting her tempting chest out to him temptingly.

He took a step toward her, his chest nearly touching the dress robes in question. He wasn't sure anymore if he was trying to drive her away or lure her closer. The scent of lilacs was heady in his nostrils. "And what of your insistence on barging into my rooms without so much as a knock?"

"I—"

"The only conclusion I can come to is that you wish to see my body

unclothed. _Again_."

Her eyes dropped—perhaps inevitably—to where his smallclothes tented over his rampant cock. Her lush, beckoning lips parted. God! The woman drove him insane.

He couldn't help but bend his head toward her, watching those plump red lips as she licked them nervously. "Perhaps I ought to assuage your curiosity."

* * *

HE MEANT TO kiss her, Hermione knew.

The intent was in every line of his face,

in the sensuous look of his eye, in the determined pose of his body. He meant to kiss her, and the awful part was that she wanted him to. She wanted to feel those sometimes sarcastic, sometimes hurting lips on hers. She wanted to taste him, to inhale his male scent as he tried her. She actually began to lean toward him, to tilt her face up, to feel the racing of her heart. Oh, yes, she longed for him to kiss her, perhaps more than she longed for her next breath.

And then the children rushed into the room. Actually, it was Hugo mainly, running as always, with his sister following more slowly behind. Sir Severus cursed rather foully under his breath and turned to clutch the sheets about his waist. He needn't have bothered, though, for all the attention the children paid him.

"A puppy!" Hugo cried, and lunged for the poor creature.

"Careful," Sir Severus said. "He hasn't…"

But his warning came too late. Hugo lifted the dog, and at the same time, a thin stream of yellow liquid poured onto the floor. Hugo stood there, mouth open, holding the puppy in front of him.

"Ah…" Sir Severus stared blankly, his magnificent chest still bared.

Hermione sympathized with the man. Half killed by cold the night before, not even dressed this morning, and already invaded by incontinent dogs and

running children.

She cleared her throat. "I think—"

But she was interrupted by a giggle. A sweet, high, girlish giggle that she hadn't heard since they'd left London. Hermione turned.

Scorpius was still standing by the doorway, both hands clapped over her mouth, giggles spilling forth from between her fingers. She lowered her

hands.

"He peed on you!" she crowed to her poor brother. "Peed and peed and

peed! We ought to call him Puddles."

For a moment, Hermione was afraid that Hugo would burst into tears, but then the puppy wriggled and he drew the little animal to his chest, grinning.

"He's still a grand puppy. But we oughtn't to call him Puddles."

"Definitely not Puddles," Sir Severus rumbled, and both children started and looked at him as if they'd forgotten him.

Scorpius sobered. "It's not our dog, Hugo. We can't name him."

"No, he's not your dog," Sir Severus said easily, "but I need help naming him. And at the moment, I need someone to take him out on the lawn and make sure he does the rest of his business there instead of the castle. Do I have any volunteers?"

The children jumped to the task, and Sir Severus had barely nodded before they were out of the room. Suddenly she was alone again with the master of the castle.

Hermione bent to wipe at the puddle on the floor with the cloth she'd brought from the kitchen along with the pap. She avoided his eyes. "Thank

you."

"What for?" His voice was careless as he flipped the sheets back on the

bed.

"You know." She looked up at him and realized her vision had blurred with tears. "Letting Scorpius and Hugo take care of the puppy. They… they

needed that right now. Thank you."

He shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "It's little enough."

"Little enough?" She stood, suddenly irritated. "You almost killed

yourself getting that dog. It was more than a little enough!"

"Who says I got the dog for the children?" he growled.

"Didn't you?" she demanded. He liked to act the beast, but underneath she sensed a different man entirely.

"And if I did?" He stepped closer and gently grasped her shoulders.

"Perhaps I deserve a reward."

She had no time to think or debate or even anticipate. His lips were on hers, warm and slightly rasping from the stubble on his chin, and oh, they

felt good. Masculine. Yearning. She hadn't been wanted like this in so long.

Hadn't been kissed by a man since she couldn't remember. She leaned into him, her hands on his bare upper arms, and that was wonderful, too, the feel of his hot, smooth skin beneath her fingers. He opened his mouth over hers and probed gently with his tongue, and she opened, welcoming him in.

Happily. Wonderfully. Easily.

Perhaps too easily.

This was her one great fault: a tendency to act too soon. To fall in love too fast. Giving everything of herself only to regret her impulsive passion

later. She'd thought Draco's kisses lovely, too, once upon a time, and what had that led to?

Nothing but despair.

She drew away, panting, and looked at him. His eye was half-closed, his face flushed and sensuous with a darkened beard of whiskers.

She tried to think of something to say. "I…"

In the end, she merely pressed her fingers to her lips and ran from the room like the greenest virgin.

* * *

"ROVER," Hugo SAID. He was squatting in the grass behind the castle, watching as the puppy sniffed at a beetle he'd found.

Scorpius rolled her eyes. "Does he look like a Rover to you?"

"Yes," Hugo said, and then added, "Or perhaps Captain."

Scorpius carefully lifted her skirts and found a bit of dryish grass to sit in.

Most everything was soaked from the storm the night before. "I think

Tristan would be nice."

"That's a girl's name."

"Is not. Tristan was a great warrior." Scorpius frowned a little, not

entirely sure of her facts. "Or something. Certainly not a girl, anyway."

"Well, it sounds like a girl's name," Hugo said stoutly.

He picked up a twig and held it in front of the puppy's nose. The puppy bit the twig and took it from him. He flopped on the ground, back legs

splayed behind him, and started chewing the twig.

"Don't let him eat it," Scorpius said.

"I'm not," Hugo said. "And, anyway—"

"Oy!" a familiar voice called. "Wot have you there?"

Behind them stood Mr. Filch. His head blotted out the morning sun,

and the greying hair standing up around his face seemed to be dazed. He swayed just a little on his feet and frowned down at the puppy.

"He's Sir Severus's dog," she said quickly, afraid he'd try to take the

dog. "We're watching him for Sir Severus."

Mr. Filcs squinted, his little eyes nearly disappearing into wrinkles in his face. "Lowly work for a duke's daughter, innit?"

Scorpius bit her lip. She'd so hoped that he had forgotten Hugo's words from the day before.

But Mr. Filch was thinking about other matters. "Juss make sure it don't piss in the kitchen. Have enough work about here as it is, don't I?"

"He—" Hugo started, but Scorpius interrupted him.

"We won't," she said sweetly.

"Huh." Mr. Filch grunted and walked off again.

Scorpius waited until he'd disappeared into the castle; then she rounded on her brother. "You mustn't say anything to him again."

"You're not the master of me!" Hugo's lower lip trembled, and his face

was growing red.

Scorpius knew that these were signs of an imminent fit of screaming or crying or both, but she pressed, anyway. "It's important, Hugo. You mustn't

let him tease you into saying things."

"I didn't," he muttered, which they both knew was a lie.

Scorpius sighed. Hugo was still very young, and this was the best she'd get out of him. She held the puppy out. "Would you like to hold Puddles?"

"He's not Puddles," he said, but he took the puppy and squished it against his chest, hiding his face in its soft fur.

"I know."

Scorpius sat back on the grass and closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her face. She ought to tell Mama what Hugo'd said. She ought to go right now

and find her. But then Mama would become cross and worried, and it'd spoil this new happiness. Maybe it wouldn't matter, anyway.

"Puddles hasn't seen the stables," Hugo said beside her. He seemed to

have recovered his good temper. "Let's show him."

"Very well."

Scorpius stood and trailed her brother across the wet grass toward the stables. The day was lovely, after all, and they had a sweet puppy to take

care of. Something made her look back over her shoulder in the direction

that Mr. Filch had gone. He was nowhere to be seen, but black clouds hovered in the distance, ominous and low, threatening the sunshine.

She shivered and ran to catch up with Hugo.

* * *

**Thank you guys for the lovely reviews for the last chapter! To answer someone's question-Salazar was able to wander back into his stable on his own. He's a magic horse so he's more intelligent then the horse's muggles breed. **

**I think there are only a couple more characters after this, in total maybe 30 before I begin to crackdown on Ginny's story. It's hard cause I technically we the storyline all out of order...**

**Do you guys think this little story will make it to 80 reviews? **

**Thank you to all of our new BAB readers!**

**Also, NothingrhymeswOrange has up and disappeared on me guys. Anyone would like to partner on me with BAB and beyond? **


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